Source Material
by InsaniumArtisan
Summary: When Stacy took the job, she thought it'd be a simple animation program. Maybe meet some of the main coordinators of Disney's projects, or things like that. She hardly expected to be thrown into the world of Disney's creations, faced with the task of creating a more "personal" atmosphere for the characters. But how is she supposed to face the magic, if she doesn't believe in it?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: And like always, a thousand ideas implant themselves into my mind, I have something I should be doing instead, and I choose the one idea that stands the most prominent, only to leave my other projects gasping in the leftover dustbowl. I'm so sorry for my flippity-flopping.

Genuinely.

(P.S. The cover belongs to the very talented darren72, on deviantArt)

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

If I ever had any dreams for the future, being an animator was one. All I ever loved, since I was a child and could hold a pencil between my fingers without fumbling, was drawing. I drew everything, my neighborhood, the objects in my house, my family, my friends. Sometimes I colored the drawings, using markers, crayons, and colored pencils to reflect the prism of shades that would flash in my mind, whether they were what was really reflected on my original target or not.

And of course, as I got older, I kept drawing. It took years to improve, hundreds of papers filled to the brim with headless faces, bodiless heads, and partially formed populace scattered messily in the whirlwind of pencil and ink. Sometimes I'd manage to actually finish a piece, look back at it five minutes later, find it dissatisfactory, and toss it. Whole worlds were trashed in my quest for perfection.

It wasn't until I hit high school, and continued on to college, that I finally reached a level of sketching where I could manage to look at my work without cringing. Rainbow-dipped environments of elaborate fantasies, those were what I loved best. I could sit for hours and work on one piece, not giving pause until every detail was in place. And if I messed up, to the trash the disaster went.

Like most girls my age, or even younger or older, I loved the world of Disney. I guess you could say it was something of a saving grace for the jaded years I spent in adolescence. Every teenager has their dark years, and while mine were spent keeping myself locked in solitude most of the time, I never really found myself alone. I used to my look back on it and laugh, as I thought of how close I felt to the Disney characters I observed on the glass screen of my TV. As I watched the princesses chase after their princes, be chased by, save, and be saved by. I always wondered what it would be like to be in that situation. To be faced with certain death, or possibly under some sort of violent magic spell, only to have it broken with true love.

For years I joked with m y friends, of how I refused to be a Disney princess. Of how much I refused to fit into that category. I always rambled about how I would much rather be a villain, an evil sorceress, a tyrannical ruler, or maybe just a really, really mean dude. To me, at that time, even being the lackey of a main antagonist was better than being the pretty ditz who thoughtlessly fell for the first guy she set eyes on. And sometimes the only one.

My dreams were a pretty silly thing. And that's just what they were, dreams. Of course, that was before I enrolled in college, before I graduated, and before I received a letter of recognition from a specific branch of the Animation Studios at the Walt Disney Company. They were called the "New Age" stylists, and to be frank, I'd never heard of them. Ever. At first I thought it was a scam, and threw the letter away without even opening the envelope.

But they kept coming.

Week after week, I'd find the same red and white piece of mail sitting in my post box, adorning a tiny mouse head sticker, and emblazoned with the same big letters that promised the fulfillment of my childhood dream. It took over three months, three months of finding, trashing, and re-finding those tiny packages before I finally gave in and responded. I was surprised when they'd replied almost immediately, notifying me about how "happy" they were that I had accepted the opportunity, how rare it was, and other things like that. Now here I was, standing in front of the same office address that the letter had printed on it, both on the outside of the letter, and the inside.

Nervously, I picked at the leather strap across my shoulder, and pulled my purse closer. Under the bright summer heat, the white button-down blouse I wore felt too heavy, too thick. In under half a minute of standing outside I already regretted my entire outfit choice, the shirt was bad, the skirt was too short, my hat was too big, and the shoes hurt. My makeup felt caked on, and what was seen of my concealed hair felt as if it had suddenly transformed into Medusa's snakes, winding up and around in styles that wasn't natural for its already extreme frizziness.

The breath I took was filled with the essence of city life, tainted with smoke and hazy petroleum. It was supposed to be calming, but instead made me cough. That movement in turn sent the folders in my hands tumbling onto the sidewalk. Before I could reach down to grab them, uncaring, disinterested feet were passing across their surfaces, smudging the white paper with brown, black, pink, and other colors that I didn't want to know the source of.

It took several attempts, a few choice words, and a bruised hand to successfully recapture all of my documents and portfolio drawings. I had hoped that city dwellers weren't as bad as people said, that New Yorkers weren't actually rude, and Floridians weren't actually just cranky old people who yelled at excited troops of teenagers off on their Spring Breaks. But I'd been to both places, and now California, and it seemed that every rumor was true.

None of the papers wanted to fit back into their respectful folders just right after that incursion, so I settled for holding the mass in my arms, like the stack of library books you were always so careful to grab, but too scared to loosen your grip on, even an bit, lest they splatter across the ground, like so many broken eggshells. It was an equally difficult struggle to manage my way into the door, stumbling across the multi-colored tiles to the front door. For a moment I found myself pausing, staring up at the massive magician's hat that straddled the doorways like a giant welcome sign. It was a bit of a plain building, to observe casually, but up close…I could already feel the magic.

A few impatient bumps finally seemed to catch the attention of someone inside, and I watched them rush to open the door with an impatient expression. It was a woman, with bright red hair and equally bright clothing, giving her a more 80s-esque sense of fashion that what I assumed she was going for. Rather than inquire about her curious taste in clothes, I stumbled to the front desk, and let my papers peel from my arms like pieces of worn-down tape.

The flamboyantly dressed lady followed after me, simpering with a slightly prideful look. Apparently she'd taken her _'do one good deed a day' _poster to heart. I stared at the duo photo that sat next to it, watching the cartoon mouse and villain printed on it grasping hands in a cordial manner, and shook my head. As much as people might dream, that would never happen. Villains were villains, and they were destined for trouble. Causing it, as well as being the very definition of it as a whole, was their purpose.

I'd never like villains much, but I still felt drawn to their daily complications. Whether it was the quest for power, unrequited love, or just bloodlust, it seemed every villain had a solid reason for doing what they did. I suppose that's what made them a '_great'_ Disney villain. They had a cause; they followed it, smiting whoever dared to block their paths.

Heroes were almost the same, I realized. Following the convictions and beliefs they held dear, to fight against the darkness that threatened to overwhelm them at any time. Such bravery and courage was admirable, yet anticipated.

I finally managed to draw my eyes away from the controversial picture, as the beaming woman took her seat in the equally bright chair across from where I stood. In my rush to let my documents go, I had hardly noticed that everything in the room was nearly as exuberant as she. Memorabilia from past and present Disney films littered the lobby, from life-size cutouts of Frozen's Olaf, to multi-sized posters of older works, such as The Little Mermaid, Lilo&Stitch, and even a few snapshots from movies I didn't recognize. More than likely they were future projects.

"Hi!" The receptionist chirped, reaching out to straighten the few wayward objects I managed to knock out of place in my stupor. "Welcome to Walt Disney Animation Studios! Are you here on business, or did you call in a tour reservation? Our next tour isn't until next week, but—"

"That's not why I'm here." I cut her off, a bit rudely. Shame crept up my neck at the confused expression that passed over her face, and I instinctively reached up to pull at the brim of the hat I wore. I only hoped she couldn't see the massive tumbleweed of brown that sat like a somewhat tamer version of an afro-wig on my head. When she didn't reply, I took it as an indication to reveal my reason for the sudden, and chaotic, venture.

"I've been receiving this, uh, letter. It keeps popping up in my mailbox, mentioning something about a new "program" or something." She gave me a blank 'deer-in-the-headlights' stare.

"It's called the, uh, _New Age Animation Program_…?"

As if there was a bulb implanted somewhere in her skull, her face lit up. Almost literally, any brighter and I probably could have charged a solar-powered battery on her face. Like a cage of tiny decorations and extravagant colors, she leapt up and wrapped her gloved hands around my own. The fabric chaffed against my skin, but I bit back the wince as she started to ramble.

"Ohmygoodness, why didn't you _say so_?"

The question sounded almost like something a Disney character would say, so why wouldn't a Disney employee?

"We started that program almost four months ago—I'm surprised you didn't come in sooner!"

I wanted to explain my situation, I thought it was a scam, then other things got in the way, there were monetary issues…but she kept chattering on before I could get a word in.

"I mean, it's great that you did. We just lost…I mean, a couple of recruits decided to move onto other things." She said it like it was the perfectly normal thing in the world, leaving the Disney Corporation for '_other things'_. I wasn't so sure it was.

"So it's a great coincidence! When we sent those letters out, we got so many applicants back. I mean, normally we wouldn't still be accepting positions at this moment in time, but with the situation of the, uh, retiring recruits, we could certainly use the extra help! I mean—_talent_!"

Whatever sort of argument she was trying to make to coerce me into taking the job, it was doing the opposite. Now I wasn't sure I wanted it. She made it sound almost like something had happened to the last few people who took the posts. I was always one for adventure, but having something happen, and then deciding to '_move onto other things_'? It sounded a little sketchy to me.

Gently, I pried her bedizened nails from my wrist, watching the red marks flare up disdainfully. "Look, uh, when I looked the brochure over, it said something about '_one-on-one'_ animation quality. What…what exactly does that _mean_?"

I'd taken it to mean that there were excess group projects, in which all the artists would work together fundamentally. But now, from the woman's overexcited outburst, I was beginning to suspect it meant something different.

"Oh, that!" Her hands snapped back, as if I had revealed to her that I secretly liked to dress in drag and call myself King Primo-Donnie. The whites of her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and I could see the perspiration beginning to bead across her forehead. It was almost like watching someone who'd been infected by a zombie bite, going through all the stages of sickness before they finally snapped.

"I'm not…uh, qualified, exactly, to explain that in full. I should probably patch you through to the person who's actually the head of this project. Actually, I should have done that sooner but—look at that, silly me, still talking!"

I took a step back as she reached out for the phone on her desk, contemplating my chances of escape. This place suddenly felt weird, not at all as comfortable as I'd imagined it being. But before I had a chance to grab my things and run, she started talking again, her energetic words dying into a serious tone as she spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Um, yes? Hello, Mr. Lasseter? Hi, it's Giselle! We received another recruit here, looking for information about the '_New Age'_ program? Yes, she's here with me now." She glanced up for a moment, flashing a thumbs-up and grinning brightly. Weakly, I repeated the action.

"Should I send her up? Yes, she has all of the necessary paperwork; I'm looking it over now." Carefully, long nails filed across my stained papers. Her fingertips danced across the waivers and signed documents until she caught my eye again and did the same thing she'd done before. Too filled with anxiety to return the gesture this time, I kept my eyes locked on Mickey and Pete, still shaking hands behind her.

"Everything's filled out. Yes sir, she has the proper approvals and recommendations. Yes. Yes sir, she has her portfolio as well." I watched her glance through the pictures, nodding appreciatively to whatever the voice on the other end of the phone said. "Alright. Yes sir. Of course. I'll send her up with a pass. Okay, have a nice day!"

Like a deflating tire, she blew out a long, exhausted breath. "Well, lucky you! He wants to speak with you about your inquiry, so I'm going to give you one of these—"

I almost jumped when she extended the mouse-eared paper towards me, the Disney logo emblazoned brightly over the word '_VISITOR_'. The line below it was blank. As I patted around for a pen, the receptionist gestured to my ear with a smile. Cheeks flaring, I pulled the thin writing utensil out of the mass of curls hanging limply over the sides of my face. I hadn't even remembered that I'd put that there earlier, when I was filling out the remaining boxes on the registration forms.

My name looked disorderly next to the intricate swirling letters it sat next to. Biting my tongue lightly to keep from groaning, I put the pen back in its hiding place and pulled the string chain over my neck. The paper flopped limply against my collarbone, yet felt oddly condemning.

"Alright!" Giselle's eyes twinkled as she handed my papers back to me, organized and packed into their respectful folders in the blink of an eye. This was probably why she was the receptionist; she was a pretty good organizer.

"We've got everything covered here, so why don't you just go on up?"

I blinked. Go up _where_?

She seemed to catch the confusion on my face, and laughed. "Oh, right! The elevator is down the hall, you can't miss it! Take it to the top floor, and ask for Mr. Lasseter. He's expecting you."

Expecting me. The words gave me a sudden mental image of a man sitting with the back of his chair to me, only to swivel around. His fingers would comb through the stereotypically white fur of his cat as he'd mumble ominously, _"I've been expecting you."_

I shuddered. It was a slightly terrifying thought, no matter how immature. Nodding along as she continued on, her instructions dimming into more air-filling chatter, I backed away from the desk. Once I finally edged close enough, I turned and fled down the directed corridor.

Each wall was plastered with photographs, of people and characters alike. A few sketches of a grinning Mickey and Minnie was nestled between the faces of '_Honored Guests'_ or the friendly smiling portraits of different section heads, men and women alike. Goofy, Donald, Daisy, and Pluto also made their appearances, grinning, playing around, and generally having fun in each of the colorful settings they were portrayed in. The bond amongst the members of the group could be so clearly seen, that it almost felt _real_.

But, of course, that was a ridiculous thought. Cartoons were cartoons, reality was reality. There was no way to cross the two, no matter how high the will was, or how strong the pleading of the heart. I'd learned that as a child, when my nightly dreams consisted of meeting my favorite princesses and princes. Even meeting the villains I despised. I'd spend time with them all, fulfilling every will and whim I had, and in the morning, I'd wake up, alone except for the Chip and Dale plushies I had tucked under my arms.

The same two plushies now sat back on my apartment bed, worn and ragged, with stitches coming unraveled and strings hanging from every possible ending.

I let out a breath and shook my head again. I needed to focus now. If I was going to get through this…"interview" successfully, my game needed to be at top level. For a moment my mind recalled Giselle's earlier words, about the leaving recruits, and I stopped, mid-walk. Was this really the right decision? Could I really go through with this, knowing that something could happen that would make me want to '_move onto other things'_?

I wasn't sure. Not really. But the elevator was only a little ways away, the painting of the red-pants wearing mouse on the double-doors smiling at me warmly. The tug in my mind was too weak to resist the pull of my childish heart, too drowned in the promise of finally working for my dream company, finally accomplishing what I'd wanted all my life, to listen to the tiny voice as they cried out.

Head held high, papers tucked under my arm, and doubts muffled under the roar of my nervous adrenaline, I stepped through the open entrance. It was only as they slid shut, leaving me shaking and scared within the confines of the ascending metal tube, that my heart finally felt the prick of my unsure subconscious. It was small, hardly noticeable, but promised something that I was sure would only sprout into a doubt I would no longer be able to hide.

When the doors opened and I resurfaced on the world, the seed implanted in my mind found the fodder to its uncertainty.

The room I was faced with was something only one's imagination could come up with. A plain white room, with four white walls, and tiled floors was exactly what greeted me. Almost like a doctor's office, it was filled with stainless furniture, all of which looked extremely expensive. Like everywhere else, there were paintings on the walls, but these stretched across the length of the plaster like taffy, the images stuffed with details until it seemed like the frame of the portrait could no longer hold them, and had allowed the edges of the picture to spill out onto the frame. It was a lovely illusion.

Keeping my tongue held, I approached the stone-faced woman at the front desk, and wordlessly showed her my pass. It wasn't that I didn't want to speak to her, it was that I couldn't. My voice was completely halted, the words shriveling and decaying on my tongue before I had the chance to spit them out.

She gave me a fleeting once-over, rolled her eyes, and pointed a perfectly manicured nail at the door that sat right next to her desk. I hesitated, a bit shell-shocked from her taciturn personality, a complete one-eighty of Giselle's own bubbly behavior. There were words I could use to describe how she acted, but I didn't expect pushy to be one of them. Yet as I stood there, even for a split second, trying to recollect my thoughts, she scowled, and pointed at the door more forcefully, before completely turning away from where I stood to tap ferociously at the keyboard opposite the desk's border.

From the cubby, I could see a few cartoon-figurines implanted within a forest of pens, notepads, and various other objects that I couldn't quite make out from my distance. Scornfully, I held back the urge to snort. Well, she _was_ a Disney employee, but I guess they couldn't all be made of sugar and starlight.

The only sound in the room was the light ticking of the clock, and the tapping of fingers against keys. The silence threatened to drive me mad, so uncharacteristic of the environment that appeared almost everywhere else, so I did the only thing I could. I followed the path her crooked finger had directed me, and entered the threshold, stage right.

That room was almost the same, but held a different atmosphere. There was similar furniture, a plain white style of chairs, desks, and wallpaper, but overall felt…softer. More inviting. The stress melted almost instantly as I took in the sweet smell that wafted through the air. Vanilla. Someone was burning scented candles. It was warmer inside than outside, and I wondered if that's what they were going for.

Intimidate the client first, and then settle them down with a nice storybook and a cup of hot chocolate for the catch.

The hot chocolate turned to me, swiveling around in his desk chair with a tranquil, welcoming smile. Gently, the man whose desk tag read "_Lasseter_" folded his arms on the wooden counter before him, and looked at me with smiling eyes.

"I've been expecting you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** _Nyoom_. And we're off. Let's see where this takes us, shall we?

Be prepared for magic.

And profanity. Be prepared for that too.

All in all, Be prepared.

A brand new era, is tiptoeing nearer.

And it's chaotic.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

* * *

I stood, allowing my jaw to flop open, only to close it again. I did this a few times, before Lasseter finally seemed to notice my discomfort. To my surprise, his eyes only twinkled.

"Please, have a seat."

I obliged, settling into the plush cushion. Every ache and pain in my shoulders melted away with the soft sensation of the comfortable chair. The man in the chair smiled at the audible sound of contentment that escaped my throat. Calmly, he leaned back, his finger interlaced like the bars of a steel-gate.

"I've been informed that you're interested in our newest…'program'. I assume that's true, Miss…?"

"Stacy," I answered quickly. "Stacy Wren."

"Wren…like the bird. How creative." His tone was friendly, completely devoid of any insulting or joking tone. It was strange to hear someone say my last name without cracking a bird-joke. Usually they asked me if I could fly or if I secretly had feathers in…personal places. Then again, this was a business meeting. Chances were, if he was to make jokes, now would not be the proper place or situation to make them in.

I nodded in response, wondering whether or not I was supposed to take off my hat. It felt strange, wearing it in such a posh setting. The felt material it was made of was beginning to wear down, peeling off the brim in chunks. To tell the truth I felt rather substandard, comparing my style to his own. Like every businessman I'd ever seen in the media, the suit he wore was crisp, pinstriped, and without a single wrinkle.

Mr. Lasseter himself looked like an ordinary man. A receding hairline poked across his forehead, causing age in contrast, where his expression instead appeared boyish and youthful. The two crinkled pools buried in his skull threatened to break my serious façade, so instead I moved on to whatever I could think of.

"I received a letter in the mail—I explained this to the woman on the main floor, Giselle? Yeah, and she, uh, told me about how there were a few members of the program that…left, I suppose is the right word. I was just wondering, what exactly the program is? I mean, not to be rude or anything, I mean no disrespect at all, but it's a bit alarming to hear—"

"To hear that people have been driven off by the details of the project. I understand completely." His words were calm and smooth, as if he'd heard the same inquiry countless times before.

Then, the man in the suit did something I never imagined. He reached into his desk, and pulled out a photo. It, like everything else, was perfectly pressed, not a curve on the borderline. As he slid the picture across the alabaster desk, I hesitated to touch it, afraid I might leave fingerprints on the flawless surface.

"Go ahead." He urged. "Take a look."

So I did.

It looked like any photoshopped picture. A man, standing around with his favorite characters. Mickey, Goofy, Donald, the whole classic gang was crowded into the frame, each doing what they did best. Mr. Lasseter and Mickey were shaking hands, while Minnie smiled at the camera. Like usual, Donald was trying his best to take up attention, standing on Goofy's shoulders while the larger of the two friends waved clumsily to the unseen cameraman.

It was both something I expected, and didn't.

"I assume you know who these characters are?" He asked, his fingers tracing the glass bowl of candy that sat next to him, a rainbow of colored wrappers and sickeningly sugary scents.

I nodded. "It's a…nice photo."

"Do you think it's real, or fake?"

I blinked, wondering if I'd heard him right. "Excuse me?"

"Do you think the photo is real, or do you think it's fake?"

"Well, I…" It's being real went against all the rules of nature, of reality. "It's fake, obviously."

He made a sound, almost like disappointment, in the back of his throat. "Tell me, Miss Wren, do you believe in Disney magic?"

That was something completely different. "Of course I do! I mean, Disney _is_ the most magical place on Earth, right?" I laughed lightly, expecting him to laugh along with me.

He didn't.

As the chuckles died in the warm air, I coughed to clear my throat. Had I done something to upset him? I certainly hoped not. This job sounded odd, whatever it was, but to be frank, I'd been getting the letters for too long now to just send in an application only to be turned down for not believing in magic.

Again, he made the noise. It was the same sound of dismay. Alright, so I had done something wrong.

"Miss Wren," he reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, the energy in his voice draining quickly. The rate at how tired he suddenly seemed was alarming. "On a scale, from one to ten, how much do you believe in the magic of Disney?"

"What…what exactly does this have to do with the job?" I sputtered. "I'm not going to be working for a magician!"

"Well, not anymore." He leaned back in his chair, his expression stone-cold.

I squinted, gaping in outrage. "So you…are you trying to tell me, that I've been getting those damn letters in the mail, for _three months straight_, to work for a _magician_? Is that what you're trying to tell me? Because that's completely _loony_. It's not how reality works, and if this is a joke, you've got me. Completely. Now please, be rational. What's the job actually about?"

"You just summed it up." He outstretched his palms, exasperated. At the look on my face, a cross scowl mixed with some sort of disbelieving gaze, he pointed at the picture.

"What do you see here?"

Cautiously, I reexamined the photograph. "Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Pluto, Donald…the normal Disney gang."

"And what about the date on the picture?"

"It was taken…," I struggled to discern the date printed on the corner of the perfect slip of paper. "2011."

"And what else?"

I blinked. "Um…"

"There's something else, you missed it. What about this picture, Miss Wren, captures the true magic of the Disney world?"

Carefully, I scrutinized every feature that I could. All I could see was Lasseter, the characters, and the blurry background. "I don't see anything."

His reaction was automatic, a terrorized and weary jolt. His hand, flushed pink, slapped against the desktop, causing an audible echo of skin against solid material.

"Exactly. You don't see anything. You don't see Peter Pan hovering over my head, you don't see Belle in the back, still reading, and most of all, you don't see the _magic_."

"_I don't see the ma_…what are you _talking_ about?"

It was official. I was talking to a madman.

He looked like he wanted to scream. "Disney's magic isn't what you think it is, Miss Wren. We here at the company know that in full. We accept that different kind of magic, and embrace it. It's what keeps us going, every day, every night. It's what we live for. It's what this program was created for. Everything has a bit of magic in it, but we here at Disney Studios, we're full of it."

There were a few things I wanted to say that he was full of, but I bit down on my tongue. Hard. If I left, it was going to be of my own accord, not thrown out by a security guard.

"Look, I can tell I'm not getting through to you like this. So I'm going to introduce you to a friend of mine."

Oh God, he's going to kill me, I realized. I was tricked, and now I'm going to be killed by a crazy guy who thinks magic is real.

He leaned down to retrieve something from under his desk, and I weighed my chances of running before I could be stabbed, or shot, or whatever he was going to do to me. His actions were a bit frenetic, but not flustered enough to be considered hostile. But this…this wasn't natural. Grown men weren't supposed to believe in magic, neither was an entire workforce! It made the whole company sound like some sort of cult!

What if it is a cult? The ridiculous notion dragged against the other panicked strings in my head, causing a wave of pure cold fear to wash through my veins. I sat ramrod still, and listened to the tiny voice.

What if this is a cult, and now he's planning to use you as a vessel for his demonic master? What if it's Mickey? What if you're possessed with a demonic Mickey? What if—

I hadn't even noticed how close he'd gotten until his hand extended, just under my nose. I yelped and scooted back. Against the plush carpet, the legs of the chair made an unholy grating sound. I shook as he gave me a quizzical, confused look, and held his hand out again.

I didn't want to look, but I did, expecting to see a pill, a wet cloth, or some sort of summoning insignia.

Instead, I saw something completely different.

And screamed.

* * *

"What are you saying? That you saw a fairy. Stacy, you're telling me that you saw a man pull a fairy out of his desk drawer. Listen to yourself. You sound crazy."

"It wasn't just any fairy, Sam!" I shrieked. "It was Tinkerbell! He pulled fucking _Tinkerbell_ out of his desk drawer!"

"Hey, watch the language." My roommate shook the spatula in her hand at me threateningly.

"Samantha. He pulled. Tinkerbell. Out of his desk. And she was alive." I dragged my hands across my hair, feeling the curls wind around my fingers like tendrils. "She looked at me. She glared at me. She was real."

The blonde haired girl in front of me only shook her head, watching as I downed the rest of the amber colored liquid in my glass. It burned like hell going down my throat, but at the moment, I really didn't care. I needed the reality boost.

He had…that man had a fairy in his desk. He told me magic was real, and then he proved it, by pulled a fairy. Out. Of. His. Desk. And what had the fairy done? That…that little wench glared at me! She had the audacity to glare, when she was the one who should have been freaking out. She wasn't supposed to _exist_.

"You sure it wasn't some sort of prank? Like those…those Vocaloid things. You know, the projections? It could have been something like that."

"For one," I snapped, allowing the bittersweet liquid coursing through my body to take a fraction of control, "Vocaloids are not projections, they're voice synthesizers. And two, no, it wasn't a projection. There was a real, breathing body in that jar. I could see it, Sam."

"See what?"

"Everything." The veins pulsing from her temple, the rise and fall of her chest. It was like watching the 3-D reboot movies, but…in front of me. And with her actual personality intact. "Tell me I'm not wrong. Tell me I'm not going crazy."

"I think you've gone nuts." Smiling playfully, Samantha slid a plateful of hamburger meat and fries in my direction. "Look, just eat something. Sober up, and—"

"No. I wanna forget today. Fill it up." I shoved my glass towards her, laying my head on my other arm in faux agony.

"Stacy, I don't think—"

"Fill it up, dammit."

There was a beat of silence, followed shortly by the sound of running liquid. I waited for it to stop, then dragged the cup back to my lips, draining its contents a second time. Then a third. By the umpteenth time, I was chugging the drink with the pace of a snail, shoving the food into my mouth with my opposite hand the moment I paused to take a breath.

I chewed the salty potato slices, biting so ferociously that I managed to catch my tongue a few times. But I didn't care. My brain felt like it was floating, and I loved it. I pushed the glass forward again. "Fill it."

This time my roommate dragged the object from my hand, pulling it out of reach. "No. That's enough."

"_What the hell—", _I hiccupped, feeling tired.

"Stop cursing." She mumbled. I flipped her off in response, and she sighed. Like a mother coaxing her sick child into resting, she handed me a plastic bowl and dragged me towards the loveseat in our apartment's "living room". After she managed to wrestle me into a lying position, she pulled a quilt across my legs and patted my head.

I didn't fight as much after that, but still muttered curses under my breath as she headed back to the kitchen. God, I felt sick. How much had I drank? I only thought I had like, four or five. I guess I had more than that, and by the way the room was starting to spin, it was a lot more than I'd anticipated.

There was a clicking sound from the room next to me, followed by the soft tune of a piano's tinkle trailing through the air. The gentle noise caused the flash of an image in my mind, a tiny, blonde-headed pixie sticking her tongue out at me through a glass jar.

I groaned, and stuck my face into the plastic bowl.

I would just sleep it off, and in the morning, I'd realize it was all a dream. A drunken, sleep-deprived dream.

Yeah…that's what would happen.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, I realized two things.

The first was that the sun was _too damn bright_. It caused a torrent of painful waves that flashed across my clenched eyelids, and burrowed into my brain, stabbing through my peacefully darkened state with uncalled-for animosity.

The second was that there was a man standing in our kitchen.

For a minute, I didn't even care. The hangover was enough reason to pull the blankets back over my head and try to sink into the darkness of sleep again, despite how violently the sun's rays were trying to blind me.

God, everything hurt. It was like my chest was being squeezed by an anaconda. If I tried to move from my horizontal position, my stomach would churn in protest, and I'd freeze in place. This went on several times, until I heard a loud, shrill voice scream from the kitchen, "Stacy!"

"_SHUT UP!"_ I screeched in response. _"THERE'S NO NEED TO YELL!"_

Again the voice prodded at my withering hearing, "Stacy, there's a guy here, from the place you went yesterday!"

Tears pricked at my eyes as I tried to block it out. Then I stiffened. What place? I couldn't remember anything from last night. Only that this morning sucked.

"Stacy!"

_God._

I dragged my body into a sitting position, picked up my bowl, and was sick. Then I stood, lifted my bowl, and was sick again. My feet managed to shuffle from the rough carpet to the freezing tiles before I was sick for the third time in a row.

The man standing next to the blonde-haired megaphone looked very uncomfortable with my arrival, his expression visibly deteriorating as he took in my vomit-and-alcohol drenched face.

"Is this a bad time?" He shouted.

"No." She screamed in response, smiling at me with a simply disappointed look on her face.

"_WHAT DO YOU WANT?"_ I roared back. They both jumped for some reason, and the guy looked even more awkward than he had before.

He was kind of ugly, with parted black hair and a big, long nose. His eyes were too far apart, and he was missing a tooth. Staring at the empty spot while he spoke, I clamped my lips shut as my stomach turned.

"I—I'm Franklin Gabe. From Walt Disney Animation Studios? I'm here to congratulate you—"

"FOR WHAT?"

"F…for getting into the program."

"_WHAT'S HE TALKING ABOUT_?" I asked Sam, clutching my pounding hand, my stained savior in the other.

"You know, that crazy program you applied for, where you said the guy pulled a _fairy_ out of his desk?"

Oh, that one.

"_SAM. SAM, WHERE'S THE COFFEE?"_ I scooted pas the duo, grabbing for an empty mug. She pointed at the container that sat nearby, filled with my morning-after elixir. Feeling a bit less like crap, I managed to down nearly half the pitcher before I finally replied.

"That…yeah, that was a great joke you guys played on me. Haha, very _funny_. Now why are you here?"

He shuffled his feet, and I noticed how uncomfortable his shoes looked. Ugly, just like him.

God, he was ugly.

"That…I really think I should come back at a better time—"

"Just talk." I snapped, cradling the bowl in my arms like a baby. It was a baby that was about to get thrown up on.

Shakily, he handed me a stack of papers. They all had the Disney insignia on them. On the top of the stack was a thin, laminated paper that read "VIP". I stared at the pass and blinked.

"What's this for?"

"Y-your first day on the job is next week." He replied. "This holds all of your paperwork, flight passes, waivers for injuries, legal contracts—"

"Hold on, Franny." I interrupted.

"It's Franklin—"

"Whatever." I pushed the stack back into his hands. "Look, I know what I saw yesterday. That guy I met was a crackpot. He drugged me, or something, and there's no way in Hell I'm taking a job from a drug-induced cult company!"

'_Cult company?'_ He mouthed, glancing at Sam.

"She said she saw him pull, who was it? Oh yeah, _Tinkerbell_, out of his desk yesterday, and now she's convinced the corporation is a cult following of a crazy magic-obsessed loony. Or at least, that's the gist of what she said yesterday."

I nodded approvingly. Why was it so hot in here? But it was cold too. Why couldn't the temperature make up its mind?

"I assure you, Miss Wren, we're no 'cult'. What you saw yesterday was very real."

"Yeah, that's what he kept telling me. But let ME tell YOU. Magic isn't real. I don't believe in magic, and I especially don't believe in fai—"

Like a censor in a Disney movie, he leapt forward, pressing his hand against my mouth with a frantic look on his face. "Don't say that!"

I pushed his arm away. "Say what? I just don't believe in—"

"_Please!"_ He begged. "You'll _kill_ her!"

"Kill who?" Sam and I asked at the same time.

Like a miniature rocket of yellow dust, something buzzed across my line of sight, coming to a halt right in front of my eyes. An angry stare burned into my forehead, attached to a green-clad body.

The fairy was in my house.

_Tinkerbell_ was in my house.

I let loose a scream, tossing my glass in her direction. In response, Sam and Franklin made sounds of fear and bolted out of the way. The result was a disgusting splatter of steaming brown liquid, drenching not only the kitchen counter, but the walls, floor, and Tink herself.

Before I could grasp what was happening, the coffee-covered fairy was shooting bolts of golden dust at my face. In response to her…whatever it was, I could feel my features distorting ridiculously. My mouth twisted, my eyes crossed, and my tongue flopped out. Over and over my expression twitched, like a tic.

"Make. It. Stop!" I managed between jolts.

"M-Madame Tinkerbell! I think she's had enough! I promise you'll get cleaned up right away! Please _stop!_"

After a few more moments of throwing dust into my face, she finally stopped. Her entire body glowed red with anger, creating the illusion that she had caught fire in her rage. I centered on that thought, her burning into a tiny little fairy shaped pile of ash, and repeated her deep breaths.

I could tell we were thinking the exact same thing.

_Bitch._

A loud sigh dragged our glares away from each other. My roommate tapped her foot gingerly, staring at the mess I'd inadvertently made with disdain. When she turned to look at me, I could only shrug in response.

"Hey, at least I didn't throw the bowl."

* * *

"So you're telling me…Disney is _real_?"

"Yes."

"Like…all of it."

"Yes."

"The worlds, the magic, the powers, the characters."

"All of it."

I squinted. "Even the villains?"

He nodded. "Even the villains."

I leaned back, scrubbing at my face tiredly. This was too surreal. There was a line between reality and not…_reality_. And there was no way to cross it, it was that simple. But here someone else was, repeating what I'd heard yesterday.

"And this…this program, I'm now a part of—since it seems my choice to _not_ join wasn't of any importance in the matter at all—was created to interact with this world?"

"Precisely!" As if I was a difficult student who finally understood the teacher's explanation, Franklin snapped his fingers.

"The New Age program was created for animation artists. It's…well, not just for animation artists, actually. I twas made for all the Disney branches, but it's most beneficial to the illustrators. You see, in this program, we create a void between their world, and ours. Through this void, our universes can collaborate, and create a more meaningful bond that could easily transfer over to the work our producers put into the Disney corporation."

"That makes no sense." I stated. "They're already doing some pretty impressive work on their own, so why go to extreme measures, just for a few prettier plots and drawings?"

"It's…it's not just that!" He interjected. "There are plenty of benefits. I mean, commercialism for one. Think of the boost we'd get if say, the President met Mickey Mouse! The Mickey Mouse! Then there's always the scientific value! Occultists and analysts from all over the world would visit for the chance to study the world's magic! Plus, what artist wouldn't want to meet their creations _in person_?"

It almost made sense the way he explained it. _Almost_.

"Then explain this. How exactly are you going to open t his void, exactly? Cast a magic spell? Use some weird hoodoo-voodoo technique to open a rift in the space time continuum?"

To my consternation, he smiled. "We've already done it!"

"What." It was a blank, plain word. No actual question attached.

He answered anyway. "The top directors created a formula, that when engaged at a specific time, will open the doors between our two worlds. This was created by harvesting the flow of the magic from their world, and combining it with ours. When the two components go into combustion together-"

"Hold on. Our world has magic? What the hell are you talking about? And where exactly would you harness this other magic from?"

"You really don't know, do you?" His eyes were incredulous.

"_What_ do I not know?"

He opened his mouth, looking like he was ready to spill out every single detail he knew, when he looked over to where Sam was standing, still scrubbing away at the coffee that covered the kitchen in messy splatters.

"I've said too much already." My hands sagged with the sudden weight of the paperwork he filled them with. "All you need to know is in here. These files will explain everything. Just make sure you're on time for the opening. You wouldn't want to be late for your first day on the job, now would you?"

I could only stare at the documents in my hands as he excused himself, and went to go speak to Sam. From where I sat, I could hear him give her his apologies, before there was a sound like a camera shutter, followed by a loud thud.

Not caring where they landed, I dropped the folders and rushed into the kitchen. I got there just in time to see the door swing shut as my roommate slumped to the floor, her blonde hair becoming drenched with the leftover drying coffee and soapy water she'd been mopping with. She was unconscious.

Horror filled my mouth, rising up from my stomach with the leftover sickness from last night.

_What was this?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Sorry for all the lollygagging. I'm sure some of you out there, you're thinking, "This is a Disney story! Where are the Disney characters?"

Well, here you go. We're almost there. Just a few more things to clear up, and the adventure can really begin.

Here's a challenge for you. I need some OC's to be side workers. Just small parts. You have the same job as Stacy, gather information that was previously unknown to the directors of the Disney board, create bonds that could be used for commercial ties and monetary benefits, and things like that.

Your OC can choose the magical power they inherit, along with basic information, and what they had to give up for it. Remember, like all trades, it has to be something of equal worth. They want something like fire-breathing, so they give up their nonexistent cooking skill. If they want something big, they must give up something big.

Aaand, go!

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"_I take it the trip went well?"_

"Actually, I haven't boarded the plane yet. Still waiting for the pilot."

"_Oh…,"_ the voice on the other end of the line paused. _"Well, what do you think of the airport? It's quite something, isn't it?"_

"Yeah," I lied. In fact, it looked the exact opposite to me. It looked more like an abandoned building, filled with decomposing foundation, and mold. I still couldn't believe I was out here.

But I'd had no choice. After I'd found Sam unconscious, I realized this whole situation was no joke. The program was an actual thing, and they'd chosen me to be part of it. _Me_, out of a hundred different, and probably more qualified, applicants. It was like winning the lottery, but I wasn't sure I wanted the prize.

"_Have you looked over all of your papers?"_

"Yeah," I repeated. The VIP pass hung limply over the top of my cardigan, the cheery text almost nauseating. "They…I get it. Everything."

"_That's great! So you understand the limits of the magic you're able to possess and all—"_

"Whoa." I cut Franklin off. "I get that, as a special bonus, or whatever, you're giving out the whole '_Magic At A Price' deal_. But I don't want it. I'll believe in your little dimension-scanning scheme, or whatever this is. I don't know what it is, really, and I don't want to. And I most certainly don't want magic. I never have, and I never will."

"_Wh-Why not?"_ He sounded flustered.

Thoughtfully, I curled the telephone cord around my finger. "It says '_At A Price'_ in the description. That does it for me. I have nothing that I'm willing to give in return for a few attempts at levitating, or shooting fireworks out of my hand, or anything ridiculous that I'm sure some of your employees are doing right now."

It reminded me too much of an "Ursula" deal. She'd promise you your true wish, and I guessed some people wished for the ability to wield magic. Then she'd take what was most precious to you in return. And that almost never ended up well. Ariel was an exception.

"If you ever change your mind—"

"I'll contact you about it."

"_Uh, no. Actually, you should talk to Mickey. He's the boss of their world, after all. We're just the coordinators of the plan."_

"Mickey…?"

"_Mickey Mouse. Who else?"_ He sounded flabbergasted that I'd actually questioned the name.

"I guess I was expecting you'd already have a head sent over, if that was the company's plan."

"_I'm not savvy to all the details, I'll admit. But as long as you understand the basics, this should go along great!"_

"Yeah." I muttered.

For a moment, there was an awkward pause. Then a soft rustling noise in the background, like papers being messed with. _"Your, uh, friend. The young lady who you reside with…I take it she's unharmed?"_

"She's fine."

"_Oh."_ He almost sounded relieved. Embarrassed, but relieved. _"I do regret having to resort to such…measure, but I'm sure you understand. If you had passed on the excursion—"_

"I'd end up with a headful of bucket-water, too."

There was another noise, almost shocked.

"I take it you didn't exactly understand the fact that you _'Men In Black'_d my best friend."

"_But…she's alright, yes?"_

"Yeah." I couldn't stop repeating the word. Yes seemed too serious. Yep, too casual. How did one exactly respond to the man who nearly gave her roommate a concussion?

"_Good."_ He gave a sigh, _"What did you tell her…about your travel arrangements?"_

"I'm going out for an interview at an animation company I've recently become interested in. I sent in some work and now they're interested in me. Sound good enough?"

"_That'll work fine."_ Behind me, there were sounds approaching, the squeaking of wheels on a slick floor.

"I think the pilot's here."

"_Good. Great!"_ Frank spoke. _"I'll leave you to it, then! Remember to record your progress on the template we gave you, and send it in nightly. It's of utmost importance—"_

"Yeah, okay, got it. Bye." Before he could say anything else, I hung up.

'_What a nutjob.' _I huffed and tugged at my hat, hoping it would keep my hair at a decently flat level as I turned to greet the person who had come to fly me to Disney's World.

Disney-World. Disney's World. They were too similar. A shiver ran down my spine.

"Um, um…excuse me? Are you Stacy…Rin?"

_'It's Wren'_, I wanted to snap. I really wanted to. But I couldn't.

Because there was a plane in front of me.

"I—you…you're a…"

"M'name's Skippy!" The tiny aircraft chirped. It was taller than me, but still smaller than most of the grounded planes that were scattered across the desolate runways. Yellow and white stripes ran from the edge of its propeller nose, to the tips of its tail. I stared at the double-wings, one layer of metallic flats over the other, tied together with wires and plastic bars.

This did not look like a real plane. This did not look like a _safe_ plane.

"I'll be your pilot today, ma'am!" He continued, not seeming to notice the quickly rising look of terror on my face. "As a precaution, I brought along some snacks I've heard humans really like. You like chocolate? I've got all kinds of chocolate! Chips? Plenty of chips! I've got sodas and juice boxes in the back compartment—ma'am? Are you alright? Ma'am?"

"Give me a minute." I was facing away from the machine, my hands planted firmly on a stone column that kept the roof of the building from crumbling. My insides whirled around, like a boat on a rough sea. This was happening. I was going to be flown by a plane. _By a plane._ The plane was the pilot.

It almost reminded me of Toon-Town. There were vehicles that dictated their own rides in that town, and with Disney, it was the same. Cars and planes, trains, boats.

"Are…are you gonna be alright? You need some medicine, cause I got that too!" The boyish voice asked helpfully.

"I'm gonna be sick." I was. I really was. I was going to throw up. A talking plane was going to make me throw up.

"Pl-please don't!" It begged. "I don't think I've got anything for throwin' up, but I think I might have some…uh, aspirins!"

Good enough.

I held out my hand, using the other to shield my mouth just in case I did decide to show him the blueberry Toaster Strudel I had for breakfast. Awkwardly, the plane glanced around. "I can't exactly…hand it to you, ma'am."

Of course.

Legs shaking, I crept closer, and warily slunk into the cockpit. The space was far too small to be comfortable, but I scrunched myself into the uncomfortable leather seat and looked around. "Where is it?"

"In the glove-box." It responded. "And while you're in there, go ahead and buckle in!"

"What?" I shrieked, wrenching open the rusty compartment. "You can't just spring a take-off on someone who just said they might be sick! And what about my luggage? I still need to pack it in, and it doesn't look like you've got much room—"

"No worries, no worries!" The aircraft bubbled, "I've got a crate tied to my underside, just slide the packages in there."

That was a ludicrous, insane idea. I was ready to tell the machine off, when the effects of the little white pill I'd just swallowed hit me like a giant wooden hammer. Man, Toon medicines were fast acting. Or would these be called "Disney medicines"?

Either way, they were kickin'.

Hesitant, but left with no other options, I climbed back out and stuffed my suitcases into the odd metal box screwed to the plane's "stomach". I had quite a few bags. It turned out, that after a week of preparation and planning, reservation making and "research", the duration of my stay would amount to a few months. It felt more than unnecessary for such an extension of time, but whatever. I wasn't the head of this deal, so I didn't have a say in the matter.

A bit tired from jumping back and forth, I had to have the plane help get me back into the seat by tilting onto its side. Ungracefully, I slipped face-first into the seat, and pulled myself into the passenger harness. "Alright, Skipper. No island trips, let's get this show on the road."

"Um…yes, ma'am?"

This was going to be the longest ride of my life.

* * *

"Slow down! Jeezus! Watch out for those birds! _Don't go after them!"_

"M'sorry!" Skippy responded, laughing joyously. "I haven't been airborne for a bit, so this is so exciting for me!"

'_I can see why.'_ My stomach was acting up again. Gingerly, I shook out another pair of pills, swallowing them with the last bit of travel water I had with me.

_"Damn…"_

There was a gasp from somewhere in front of me. "M-Miss Rin! Your language!"

"It's Wren." I snapped. "And what's wrong with my language?"

"Well, it's our moral code in Disney's World, to not use such coarse words. We're a modest-type of people, you see? So, things like that…"

I was being trapped in the world of PG? For almost four months? Oh, Hell no.

"It's not like I'll be shipped out if I _do_ do it, right?"

'_Please say yes, please say yes.'_

"Well…no."

'_Dammit.'_

"But, it's still shocking. Most of our folks have never heard such words, so if they were to go around sayin' em. Without knowin' their meanin' and all…"

"What about the villains?" They were the bad guys. A few of them had gotten close to cursing, but had been censored, so surely even they knew about profanities.

"Not even."

That made no sense. "So what about the times they've been censored in kid's movies. You know, character cut-ins, or scene jumps and such?"

"They never knew what they were supposed to be saying. More than likely, sour words would have been automatically replaced with sweet ones. Like…um, the '_f_' word would be replaced with something more natural, like flipping, or fudge. And the '_b_' word, well '_witch'_ is an acceptable alternative, but so is something a bit tamer, like '_bimbo'_."

"Bimbo is _not_ a child's word."

"Yes, but it's better than the original."

The plane sounded rather mortified at the topic at hand, so I sighed and decided to give the subject a well-needed change. "So, this whole '_Magic Thing'_…how many other Disney collaborators and assistants and stuff actually opted for the powers?"

"Oh, almost all of them!" He sounded much happier now. "Nearly everyone has magic of some sort, it all depends on their personalities!"

Oh great, so I was going to be the Black-Sheep of the herd.

"What sort of power did you get, Miss Rin?"

Wren. I clenched my teeth, forcing the words out with a patience I didn't know I had.

"I didn't."

"What?" The aircraft dropped a few feet, and I let loose a high-pitched screech.

"_Don't do that ever again!"_

"Sorry, sorry…," he apologized. "But I'm just—I'm shocked! Why not? We never take anything big in exchange, just something small. Can you sing? We'd take that. Can you dance? Well, you'd just be a couple 'a left feet, but just till the spell wears off…nothing bad!"

He was making it sound worse. "I didn't want any. I don't believe in magic."

I could feel his restraint as he forced his wings to stay on air level. "You…you _don't believe_ in magic! But then, _how_ were you picked for the job?"

"The spot needed to be filled." I offered. It was the best excuse I could come up with, but it was true.

There was silence, aside from the soft hum of the plane's propeller and engine signaling the energy used to keep up aloft. After a moment, Skippy spoke again.

"I hope this trip changes your mind, Miss. I really do."

The words were extremely heartfelt, and I felt confused by them. My stomach churned with the odd sincerity, but I found myself unable to respond.

"Oh, look at that!" He interjected before I was able to conjure up something in reply. "We're almost at the border! Now's your chance to start believing, Miss, cause you gotta make a choice right here and now!"

I looked ahead, seeing nothing but the blue-grey sky and thin clouds zooming past. "I don't see anyting!"

"That's the magic of it!" He laughed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The rift is concealed, and only accessible to characters like us!"

"But…how will I get through?" Panic swarmed through my mind like a horde of angry bees. What if he flew through this 'portal', and I ended up in empty air? All because I didn't believe in magic?

"You gotta make a decision!"

"What's that?" My hat threatened to whizz off my head, so I clung to it tightly. A loud creaking signaled the steady pendulum-like swinging of my luggage, and I leaned over the side, hoping to not see it plummeting down through the empty air.

It wasn't, but suddenly my head was. Dizziness slammed into my face like a wet paper towel, and I scrambled back upright, hyperventilating.

"What kind of decision?"

"Everyone is divided into different districts based on their unique designs!" He shouted back. "Monsters live in the Monster Cities, Princesses live in the castles, Villains in…the, uh, jails." The last part was a w hisper, but I still managed to catch it as it was carried to my ears by the wind.

"That's not fair!" I yelled. I didn't like villains much, but they were still people. They deserved some forms of respect, no matter how heinous their deeds were.

"Well, it's only till they get a sentence. Community service and all that."

"That's more bearable, I suppose. But…the choice! What do I have to do? Just choose where I live?"

"Oh, no! It's not that simple!" The plane swerved slightly with the push of the breeze, and I curled myself as far into a ball as I could, and weakly reached for the cooler where he said he had drinks stashed. Popping open a can of soda, I took small, concentrated sips, trying to focus on what he was saying, instead of the way my head was reeling.

"You have to choose your style!"

'_Style?'_

"What—_sip_—style?"

"Your drawing style! You didn't expect to just hit the world like you are now, did you?"

Yes, yes I did.

"You want me to…pick a style to be drawn in? Like I'm some sort of character?"

"That…that's the gist of it, yes, ma'am."

That was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

"We're getting really close now, Miss. So, if you could make your decision…"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Think of your favorite illustration style! 3D, 2D, whatever! Then concentrate on it, and whoosh! You'll be it when we land!"

Oh, God. There were so many choices.

A torrent of images filled my head. Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Wreck-It Ralph, Tangled, The Black Cauldron, Aladdin, Lilo and Stitch, Lady and the Tramp, Peter Pan, Sleeping Beauty, Brave—

"Hurry!"

The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Monster Inc., The Great Mouse Detective, Oliver and Company, The Jungle Book, Alice In Wonderland, Meet the Robinsons—

"Three!"

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Finding Nemo, Frozen, Cars, Planes, Bolt—

"Two!"

Underdog, Ratatouille, Winnie the Pooh, The Emperor's New Groove, The Blue Umbrella, The Nightmare Before Christmas—

"One!"

My mouth slipped open, and I screamed out my answer.

"_Paperman!"_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Guess who just purchased the first "Kingdom Keepers" book? This is gonna be an adventure for sure.

Oh! I hope I don't sound naggy for this, but I have a nice little poll on my profile, if you'd like to take a peek. It has to do with the future (FAR future) "Romantic" aspects of my creation here, and whether or not (or with whom) these actions should take place. Give it a look-see and maybe a click if you have any ideas.

Okay, enough of that.

_(Thank you, by the way, to everyone who has reviewed so far. I appreciate you all so much.)_

Onto the story!

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

That plane knew neither how to fly in a straight line, or how to land in one.

Like a child racing down the stairs, he came in at an unsafe angle, causing me, and everything else he had stashed in his dash, to go flying back. My spine hit the uncomfortable seat at an odd spot, and the moment he straightened out again, I let out the loudest expletive I could.

Skippy gave a tiny squeak. "Miss Wren! Are you _alright_ back there?"

"_Fuck_—no!" I screamed. "You almost broke my back! Where did you get your license?"

"I…!" He sounded flustered and close to tears. "Did you get hurt? Is your back out of place? It's been so long since I've flown! I should have known to be more careful—I'm so sorry!"

It was such a young voice. I felt like I was yelling at a middle-schooler. Shame washed across my face in a wave of heat.

"Nah. I—I'll live. You…you did well, kid. For a talking plane, you did alright."

"Oh." The aircraft sounded relieved. "I would have been so scared if you were hurt. That would've been really bad."

'_You're telling me,'_ I inwardly muttered, stretching out as much as I could in the seat. There was the sound of cracking, followed shortly by a pulse of nausea. Okay, maybe I had actually hurt something. But I'd still live. Hopefully.

It was then, amongst the dull pain, that I noticed…everything. My hands, I observed as I raised them up to keep my hat on my head, were an unnatural shade of grey. Everything was.

I screamed.

My clothes were all monochromatic, my hair, once brown, was now just a darkened shade of what my hands were. I glanced in the pilot's mirror, and screamed again.

Where there had once been a pair of brown eyes staring back at me, what I saw reflected was nothing more than two black circles. Even the color in my eyes was gone. The only glimpse left of pigment in my body was my lips, a strange cross between red and pink. I couldn't put a name to the shade, or the feeling that came with it.

I really was in "Paperman" style.

My body was more defined, everywhere. A few places sported lines, like a pencil or pen had come across the folds of my clothes and bodily curves and left a swift stroke of shadow. The emphasized detail was sometimes replaced with curvier, more 3-D places. But that was to be expected of the mashed-up style.

Yet I couldn't stop screaming.

The only difference between me and the world I'd so foolishly called out was that I was making sound, while the original characters only gave small noises, like snickers and gasps. I could talk, and I refused to stop. Not until I got answers.

"_What the hell is this?_ How the _hell_ am I-? Oh God, I've gone crazy! This isn't _real_!"

"You're flying to Disney's World in a talking plane, ma'am. If you've gone crazy, now wouldn't exactly be the best time to realize it."

"But I'm—_I'm…!"_

"A cartoon!" He replied, like it was nothing. "I told you, everyone has to choose what sort of style they arrived in!"

When I didn't reply, he must have realized my choked sobs weren't of joy or awe. "I guess for people in your world, this must really be something, huh?"

I was a cartoon. A f—I was animated. A character, to be drawn and erased, over and over again. And I was colorless. "Is there…any way to change this?"

"Well, no…once you choose one; you're stuck with it, just like the rest of us. We can't just choose and change how we look, and neither can you!"

Skippy gave a lighthearted chuckle, but I only stared at my hands. My heart was beating like a hummingbird, the imaginary wings smacking against my ribcage violently. Would I ever get used to this? Would this ever be okay?

I wasn't sure.

I made no reply to anything he said after that, hardly listening as I continued to take in the details of my transformation. This was so…unreal. I could see every detail of my face, stretched to the caricature of the world I'd picked. My nose was thin and shaped like an upside down arrow, not exactly ugly, not by cartoon standards, but not as perfect as some. My face was still its normal round shape, with a sharp chin and high cheekbones. But my eyes were…I just wanted something m ore than colored lips. I wanted my eyes back.

They were they only thing I really liked about myself.

Then I realized, they weren't the only bright thing. The ribbon on my hat was colored too, a brighter, more exaggerated shade of yellow than it'd been originally. Carefully, I pulled the object off my head, giving a small sniff of disdain as the mop I'd kept hidden under it popped free, now a mass of dark grey curls.

I turned the hat back and forth, drinking up the small notches of pen, and the look of the pale material in contrast to the sunny-hued band. It looked like a color-splash picture, the kind I'd find online and spend mere moments admiring, due to its simplicity. Now I was a walking color-splash picture.

"…and that's how Ricky and I managed to—Oh, hey look! We're here!"

Pulling the hat back over my monochrome mane, I daringly leaned out to peek in the direction we were heading.

"Oh my _God_…"

It was gorgeous. Like the 3-dimensional castle I'd always seen at the beginning of every new Disney movie. Every column was perfectly places, every window in perfect sight. Around it, a prism cascaded around, colors of every hue and tint speckled amongst each other like stars. Now that I was missing my own, if even for this brief moment, I already felt myself valuing what I'd been taking for granted.

"Look, there's Cinderella! And there's Ariel! There's Anna and Elsa—oh, and Olaf! _Hi Olaf!"_

My pilot continued to spit out names and greetings like a roll-call, waving his wings back and forth in response to the mass of eager waves he got in return. From where sat, I could see more than that. I could see the curious looks and stares, all directed at the monochrome woman who was ducking out of sight from the backseat of the young plane.

I could almost hear the questions, too.

_Who is she?_

_Why is she here?_

_Where's her color?_

At this point, I don't think I could have honestly answered any of them.

When his wheels finally touched down, and the engine slowed to a halt, I nearly flung myself out of the door. Tripping a bit to catch my steps, I managed to shaky, jet-lagged gait out onto the pavement, where I promptly dropped to my knees to praise the ground like the beautiful miracle that it was.

"I'll never leave you again!" I pledged to the cement. "Never!"

Behind me, Skippy gave an awkward shuffle. "So…I did well on my first flight, right?"

Now that I didn't have to worry about being catapulted out of the seat by some sort of auto-eject mechanism, I wanted to tell him _exactly_ how I thought he did. But before I could get the words off my chest, a high-pitched, overly energetic voice caught my attention.

"Well, gee, Skippy! That sure was some fine, uh, _flying_!"

I looked up…and saw a mouse.

Mickey Mouse, to be exact.

The black-furred rodent grinned down at me in a friendly matter. "Well, hiya! My name's Mickey Mouse! You must be the new recruit we got word about! It's a real pleasure to meetcha, Miss…?"

'_Wren,'_ I wanted to say.

But instead, I threw up.

"Oh-ohmygosh!" The plane squealed. Mickey jumped back in surprise, concern crossing over his features.

"Miss, are you alright? Are you sick? Are you feeling…okay?"

He reached out, and gently touched my shoulder. A sensation struck through me at the movement, like lightning, quick and painful. I leapt out of range, and pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the protest of my raging stomach.

"I'm fine." I lied. "I just need…to sit down for a little bit. Or a drink. A drink would be nice."

"Oh, well we've got waters and sodas inside, if you'd like—"

"Where's the hard stuff?"

"Uh…"

Why was I wasting my time? I was in a children's world, alcohol wasn't going to be found here, or at least, not easily. "Nevermind. Can I have some water? _Please_?"

His frown broke back into a smile. "Well, sure! C'mon, let's, uh…get you cleaned up."

I glanced down, to see what he meant.

I'd thrown up all over my shirt.

'_Dammit…'_

* * *

"This is your very first day on the job, right?"

"Yeah," I mumbled.

I didn't think it would have, but that water actually did the trick. I didn't feel sick anymore. But that didn't mean I was any more comfortable.

As we walked through the building, the mouse and I, I tried to count how many characters I could recognize. Dumbo, Timothy, there was Giselle at the front desk, a different Giselle. This one looked similar, but the Disney authenticity could still be seen in her cheery smile.

"Hi, have a great day!" She chirped.

"Well, thanks, Giselle! You too!" Mickey replied, waving jovially.

As her smile passed from him to me, I could only muster a weak nod of the head. I really was going to die, one of these days, just from the pure shock my body was being put through. There was only so much stress the human heart could take.

My breaking point came in the form of a wall. A soft, red and black wall.

I followed the trail of cloth up, until my eyes hit a face. Sneering down at me, a darkly-tanned man ran his hand across his excruciatingly twisted beard. I'd just run into Jafar. And he didn't look happy about it.

The attention only lasted for a moment though, as he looked past me like I was nothing but a trivial inconvenience, to the oddly nervous mouse at my side.

"Mickey, we need to talk. The others and I have come up with a compromise, concerning our sentences, and we'd like to—"

"No way, José!" The shortest of the pair replied hastily, shaking his finger at the vizier. "Remember the last time I let you guys goof me over? No way is that happening again!"

"Ah, yes…good times," the Arab man sighed dreamily, as if whatever cockamamie scheme he'd been involved in was something he likened to a fond memory. As soon as he registered the rejection, however, his demeanor changed. "But Mickey…"

"No means no! And I won't hear any more of it! Now, if you'll excuse us—"

He grabbed my arm to pull me around the villain's path, but my other hand was preoccupied the same way, locked in the bony grip of an irritated looking Jafar.

He gave me another once over, his grimace only widening with each moment.

"I know I'm pretty, but you don't have to stare." I almost slapped myself. That was completely stupid, more or less because this guy would kill me with one wave of the magical staff he was holding.

I almost laughed. I didn't believe in the entirety of this world's existence, but I was already scared to death of a golden stick.

"And _who_ are _you_?" He spoke the words like a threat, as if daring me to answer.

I didn't really want to.

"Oi! The boss asked you a question!" A flurry of brightly colored feathers clouded my view. Iago flapped his wings in my face, growing more annoyed with each second. "Hurry up and _say something_, will ya? What, cat got your tongue?"

Sparing me from any further humiliation, Mickey yanked me out of the villain's grasp.

"You'll have a chance to meet with me later. _Goodbye_, Jafar."

I didn't fight as he continued to pull me down the hallway. I was just glad to get away from the pair of eyes that I could still feel burning into my back. I'd made an enemy already, unintentionally, and without provocation.

What a great freakin' first day.

* * *

"Sorry about that." Mickey took his spot in his desk chair, a few inches lower from where I sat. "He's really not that bad, you know. Well, I mean, he _is_, but that's beside the point! How are you feeling so far? Are you enjoying your time here? How was the flight?"

"Terrible." I spoke before I could stop myself.

To my surprise, the cartoon mouse only laughed.

"Skippy's a nice kid! But when it comes to flying, well…," he shrugged.

I gave a nervous, forced chuckle in response, and glanced around the office.

It was much different than the offices I'd been in before, in my world. Everything was cartoonized, filled to the brim with details and bright shades. Even the desk seemed livelier, covered in photos, papers, and encouraging sticker quotes. I found myself picking at the corner of one that read, "Hang on!" while Mickey kept talking.

"We've already gotten your papers filed away, and your contract signed almost in-full. Your luggage has been sent to the _Hotel de Magie_, one of the five-star establishments in this fine part of our fair city!"

What city is this? Was this world divided into different places? I thought it was just one big…world.

He gave another light laugh, as if reading the question on my face. "Right now, you're in Walt's City. It's the heart of this world, our pride and joy. The first city our creator ever came up with, filled with all of his originals, including me, my pals, Goofy, Donald, and Pluto, and my gal, Minnie. The princesses all live in their respective lands, as do the rest of the inhabitants. It's just this place where the real stuff happens."

"What about the, uh…_villains_?" I remember someone saying something about them being kept in the jails. And by the way Jafar was talking earlier, '_**We**__ have a compromise for you'_, or something like that, it sounded almost true.

"Oh! Yes, well, you know bad guys. Always up to mischief, even after the story's done and over. All the dead ones come back to life, and keep on causing trouble, while the ones that are still alive don't even take a break." He sighed, like the thought exhausted him, and gave his gloved hands a slight wave, "We don't have much of another choice, but to keep 'em locked up till they learn how to behave."

So it was true. I didn't blame him in the slightest. My mind kept jumping back to the predatory look I'd received from Jafar, and I suppressed the urge to shudder.

"I…I get that. Yeah."

"Not much a fan of villains?" Mickey gave a small smile.

"No, not really." They either scared me as a child, or just made me angry. Not that the stories were better without them, they'd just have been stupid then. But most of their reasons, power, or jealousy, was pathetic. Why not just plain out and out psychopathy? A real killer, just out for the hunt? Or maybe they were given a legitimate reason for hating the main protagonist, like they caused them to be involved with an accident. And not accidentally, because that just defeated the need for a fresher take.

An accident was an accident, no matter how big or small.

Still grinning, the "boss" slid a stack of papers in my direction. I caught them, shaking at the look and feel of the plain white papers against my grey skin. So I really was stuck like this, then? There was no way to change it.

"This is your final contract," Mickey stated matter-of-factly. Again he laughed, and the serious tone broke back into his normally friendly way of speaking. "We just need ya to sign the bottom, and you'll be good to go! I've already got a guide set up to show you around, get ya settled, all the rudimentary stuff!"

I nodded, looking over the tiny printed words with difficulty. I didn't see anything bad or damning squeezed in between the official-appearing sentences, so I did what I had to.

I signed it.

Happily, my new boss pulled the paper back and glanced at the signature, taking in the sloppy writing for all its hideous glory. "Great, looks good! Well, Miss…I never _did_ catch your name."

"Wren." I replied, standing up. I was shaking hands with a cartoon mouse, but it still felt too business-like for me to even think of poking fun of. "Stacy Wren."

"Well! Miss Stacy, it's a pleasure doing business with you! I hope you come to enjoy our magical little home! Disney is as much as your home now as it is ours!"

Filled with a rush of adrenaline, something I didn't know I had left in me after what had taken place before this exchange, I forced a grim smile. "Thank you…sir."

He waved the statement off. "Aw, just call me Mickey!"

"Okay." Slowly, I edged my way towards the door, feeling for the doorknob. The cold metal hit my hand, and I twisted it, pulling the threshold open as I gave my last goodbyes for the day. "Thank you, _Mickey_."

Like a tornado, I whirled around, ready to spring out of there as fast as I could. All I wanted was a hot shower, a cold beer, and a long nap. Instead, what I got was a face-full of black and red cloth.

This time, Jafar didn't even give me a sidelong look; he nearly shoved me out of his way and out into the corridor. "Out of my _way_, child."

"I'm twenty-seven you crotchety old man." I spat back.

Before the red streak of whatever was packed into the twig of his could hit the back of my head, I yelped and took off; turning the corner so hard that I nearly bowled into a dozen more people in my attempt to escape his crimson ray of death.

'_Oh, this turned out to be a great start. Now to find that damn guide…'_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Ohmigoshness gracious. Thanks guys, for both the OC's, and the reviews! \(;v;)/

You're all great, you know that? I really appreciate it.

(Pssst, the poll is still open on my profile. You can play around with an answer you like, since it won't really come until later on in the story. But feedback would be appreciated.)

Okay, let's get going!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"This is the…main lobby. Of course, you've already been here. And this is the, uh…the lounge area, where the staff goes for breaks and snacks and things like that."

I tuned out the girl's words for a brief moment to take in the delicious smells that were wafting from the room we passed. The bitter scent of ground coffee beans made my mouth water. I couldn't get through the day without a good cuppa joe. To accent it, there was a sweeter smell, like melted icing. Somebody had pastries in there, and they were making my stomach growl.

I missed that bottle of water Mickey had given me. Without realizing it, I'd left it back in his office, and he'd probably have thrown it away by now. Either that or that creep Jafar did something with it.

I shivered. God, what a _weirdo_. People like him were why I didn't like villains. Sometimes they were total pricks, and sometimes they were creepy pricks.

A cautious hand waved in front of my face until my eyes refocused on the guide. She was a somewhat short girl, at least, a bit shorter than me. Her skin was light, but she carried features I just couldn't quite fit into a Caucasian specification. Unlike my own monochrome body, she was more…gracefully detailed. I recognized the likeness to that of the Hercules movie. It was pretty cool looking.

Gently, the blonde haired woman waved her arm around, her voice jittery and nervous. Just seeing her hair was making me think of my roommate back home, completely ignorant of my situation, and oh-so trusting. The deceit made my toes curl, so instead I listened to the guide's shy words.

"We've gone through every room here in the main building, and now we'll be heading out to your, uh, future stations. You won't…begin work today. That'll be after a few, um, a few days." Her quaking stutter stirred a bit of irritation in my already strung out nerves. What was she acting so squirrely for? I just wanted to throw a blanket around her shoulders and give her a mug of hot chocolate.

"I was hoping for that." I responded. Watching her rock back and forth on her heels for a moment, I wondered just how young this kid was. Next to me, she looked like a baby. Then again, I wasn't fully sure if that was a bad thing or not.

"Hey, uh…what'd you say your name was again?"

"R-Rune." She muttered softly. "My name is…well, it's on my name-tag, Miss."

Oh, duh.

The scrawled letters formed what I hoped I was reading right. "Rune…_Vargas_?"

"Vantas." She corrected.

Whoops.

"Okay, then. This tour's been great and all, the nice little executive bathrooms, and all the quaint little offices and sh—_stuff_, but I'm dying for a bite. Think we could take a detour? I haven't eaten since this morning."

Her face creased in worried lines. Jerkily she glanced around. For what reason, I had no idea. Was she worried about getting caught? Was going out to eat an illegal part of procedure or something?

"I…I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

As if its opinion would help to hurry her along, my stomach rumbled. "Yeah…think we could go, like, _now_? I'm really hungry, and if I don't get away from the smell that's coming from that room over there, I might start eating the furniture."

I sounded really pushy, but hey, I was a millimeter of snapped control away from sinking my teeth into the vanilla-shaded plush chairs near the front desk. Now that I was focused on my famine, I realized almost everything was candy-shaded. This was supposed to be a castle, yet it doubled as a business institution, and looked like a candy house.

I didn't even want to wait for the Wicked Witch to show up, I just wanted to leave. Tapping my foot, I watched the girls face go through a series of complex emotions, before she finally gave a tiny nod. "Alright. I know a nice…um, café, that's nearby. They have great sandwiches and things, if that's alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, great." I marched ahead, cradling my vibrating abdomen gingerly. "Let's just go. _Please_."

A few hours later, we walked side by side out of the wooden double-doors, laughing and smiling like idiots.

"You were right," I smirked. "There is _no one_ as cool as LeFou!"

"Yeah! He's a bit of a jerk, but that's just because he was friends with one of the biggest jerks of all time, for quite a while." Rune smiled, a bit more brightly, and waved to the whistling host behind us.

In all my years, I would never have expected to see Gaston's miniscule sidekick running a restaurant. And I sure as Hell wouldn't have expected it to be so good. The food was amazing, and my now content stomach didn't let out as much as a whimper. I was completely content. And surprised. I had half-expected him to be as big of a jerk as he was in the movie. Turns out I was wrong.

"I guess so." His ex-boss was one of my most hated of Disney bad guys. I couldn't stand anyone with closed off or restricted mindsets, and Gaston was one of the most sexist, vain villains I knew of. Everything about him made me want to give the big oaf a swift kick in his "five dozen eggs".

"Where to next?"

"Uh-!" Her expression dropped back into a business-like mask, the anxiety she'd managed to lose just moments before suddenly rushing back to send her actions into a nervous twitching pattern. "Well, the last th-thing on the list is, um…!" She let out a soft squeak.

"What?" My chest tightened. Was it something I wasn't going to like? A lecture? An excursion through the world's secret slave mines? "What is it?"

"The last spot is…the, um…the Disney Penitentiary."

"The _jail_? They're making me visit the _jail_?"

"It'll be part of your job. You have to, uh, get sketches of the villains, as well as the heroes, you know? Bonds made aren't always just between the princesses and their creators, the villains are usually overlooked. So with this on your schedule, you'll be one of the few who get a chance to take up that bond."

"What do you mean exactly, '_bond'_?" It sounded shifty.

She looked surprised. "The bond is…well, it's a very complex thing. It's the tie you make when the sketches are completed! It's like, when a new character is designed, that character holds a little piece of their cartoonist in their heart, and vice versa. That's how it works with all of us, even if we don't personally own these characters! They become us, in a sense. A bond, between pen and person."

That was the most I'd ever heard her speak in one breath. Not even when we were conversing in the restaurant was she this chatty. Art must really have been important to her, and the thought of it softened my annoyance a bit.

"That's…crazy." I couldn't think of another way to say it. The people we drew became us? We became them? That just sounded weird, like we were using each other as mutual Horcruxes or something. "So, I'm going to be tied to every character I draw? What exactly does that do to me? And them?"

"Not every character!" Her hands flew up defensively. "The first character you draw is who you're bonded fully to, and it kind of acts…um…how do I explain this?"

Rune ran a hand over her golden hair, her face creased in thought. "You…can feel each other's emotions. The villains hate it, because of how personal the invasion of privacy is, so the company is trying _extra hard_ to get those bonds made, so maybe they have a better chance at reform. It sounds weird, but it's actually a lot of fun! Trust me, once you see the magic, you'll love it!"

"Oh, yippee." Magic. There it was again. Didn't anyone here rely on anything else? All I heard of was magic, magic, magic. If this place were around during Puritan times, they'd have burnt this entire world to ashes. "Who are you bonded to?"

"Well, like I said, it's nearly impossible to get the villains to agree to a bond, but I was really interested in becoming bonded to one of them, so right now, I'm kind of aimed at Scar. I…I know I'm not much of a guide, and that this all sounds so…strange and confusing. But I'm sure you'll understand better when we get there! I promise!" She pressed one hand over her heart, and held the other one up solemnly. "Scouts honor!"

"Careful there, sprout." I teased, trying to diffuse the bomb of anxiety in my chest, "Don't want you busting anything with all this energy you're giving off."

Rune's face pooled into a shade of deep red. "Sorry…"

"It's alright, kid. I'm joking." Keeping a grin plastered on my face, I looked around. "So…how exactly are we supposed to get there?" I didn't see any buildings labeled 'Nut House' around, and everything around was too tame to guess that villains would lie inside. If I knew my Disney, which I was damn sure that I did, they would be in some big, extravagant housing facility. Probably it'd be surrounded with giant electric fences and tall towers, covered by mist and darkness to create a hostile effect, to more or less drive away the possibility for break-ins.

When she lifted her hand, and pointed out the building we would have to get to, I let out a curse.

I hated being right sometimes.

* * *

Ursula really hated solitary confinement.

Okay, so she'd tried to take over the sea. _Once_. She'd tried to take Triton's powers, and become Queen of the merpeople. _Once_. Then that little wench and her goody two-shoes prince had come along and skewered her like a living shish-kabob.

The only reason she was alive was because it was all a production. Every movie was, even if the parts played were nothing but.

She couldn't help the personality she was drawn with. She was a villain, and a villain she would stay. Not even this ridiculous new "bonding" program they came up with was going to change her, not in the slightest. It never did.

For the time she had out, just like her fellow Solos, she preferred to keep tight in a group. Hook, Cruella, Maleficent, and the others were al gathered around a single table, tossing handfuls of cards back and forth. Amongst the chaos were the promises of death threats, curses, and insults that could make Chernabog himself break down in tears. Not that the old hunk of muscle ever would. He had far too much pride for that.

The tentacled witch had just laid out her best hand yet, a Royal Flush, when their missing compadre came strolling through the Pen-doors, clad in one of the bright orange outfits they all wore. His hat removed, and staff confiscated, the vizier only gave an irritated huff at the barrage of questions that flew in at his arrival.

"How'd it go?"

"We got a deal?"

"Did he say yes?"

"Tell, us, Jaffy-Taffy." Ursula smirked, allowing her tentacles to furl around lazily in the air, far too close to the male villain's personal vicinity for his comfort. She could see the disgust in his face as he shoved one of the appendages away from his leg, and that only made her grin more.

"It didn't go…as well as we would have hoped."

"Blast it!" Hook shouted, leaping from his seat. "Why didn't it?"

"There was an interruption." He growled simply. "I'd made the call earlier, gotten him into actually considering it. I'd gotten the meeting scheduled. All I needed to do then was go in, schmooze the furry rodent's good side, and get us what we _wanted_."

"_So_ _what_ _happened_?" Hades' blue flames were dangerously close to bursting into a crimson canyon. Everyone at the table scooted away from the fiery god a few inches, hoping to escape any sort of injuries, lest he blow up.

"There was a new arrival." His fist slammed into the tabletop, sending piles of plastic chips and cards every which way. "The girl had gotten to him first, sucked out all of his patience, so that there was nothing left for when I showed up!"

"What? You mean you were shown up by a mere _woman_?" Hook's empty sleeve shook in Jafar's face, must less threateningly when the weapon he usually had attached to it was missing.

"Not just any woman," he sneered, pushing the stump back. "She's one of _them_."

There was a collective groan.

"_Not another one!"_

"_You've got to be KIDDING me!"_

"_Haven't they realized how pointless this is already?"_

"Yes, that chance was lost. But I learned something," the villain's angry frown grew into a sinister smile, effectively catching the attention of his complaining partners in crime. "It turns out that she's one of the few who has yet to have chosen a wish."

This caught the witch's interest. "Really? I was sure all of those Other-Worlders would have jumped at the chance by now. Isn't wielding power what they're about?"

"Not _all_ of them." He responded. "And she holds bitterness, as well. I was…subject to her fiery nature, first hand."

"Yeah, she called ya a crotchety old man!" Iago squawked form his shoulder. "It made me so mad, I'm _molting_! Look at this, I'm molting!"

"Quiet!" The sorcerer hissed.

Across the table, Hades let out a burst of laughter. "A crotchety old man? That's what she called you, and you consider that a '_fiery nature'_? Jaffy! _Baby! _Look at me, I'm flames _galore_! There's no way some little brat could hold a candle with something as trivial as that!"

"I wouldn't expect something like that to get to you." Maleficent sounded amused.

"It's not the first time he's been insulted by a woman, _is it Jafar_?" The pirate captain let out his own cackle and clapped the bearded man on the back playfully. "No, I remember you being turned down more than once, not only by that air-headed princess of yours, but by Mali here herself, and several others too!"

"You just don't have the charm, man!" Prideful, the blue-skinned god draped his arm around his green-skinned lady's shoulders, only to have it plucked off just as lazily. "What you need is to take advice from guys like us! Me and Hook here, we could give ya the tips to bag any broad you wanted!" After a moment's consideration, Hades let out a bark of laughter, pointing teasingly at the befuddled pirate captain. "Oh, wait! I forgot that you're in the _same boat!_ Looks like the only Casanova here is me!"

"You'd best be watchin' your mouth, you flaming, lily-livered sod! Hook isn't to be reeled in by any mere woman, and I'd thank you to keep such thoughts from your mind, lest I _gut_ you once I get my hook back!"

"_Lily-livered? _You're talking to the god of Death, man! Can you believe this guy?" Hades jerked his thumb in the fuming male's direction, "Captain Codfish thinks he can land a _girl!_ Now, who would you rather have give you advice, Jaffy? Me, or Hookless here?"

"_Neither. Thank you."_ The words were poisonous, and held a threat that clearly read_, 'Do __**Not**__ Press The Matter Further'. _

Hades shrugged. "Suit yourself. So, about this girl…you got a plan?"

"Isn't it _obvious_, you buffoons?" Once again his fist came down on the wooden surface, drawing the attention of several guards. Timidly, the vizier shrank down in his seat, and beckoned the other villains closer. "The plan is to—"

No sooner did the words leave his mouth that a hush came over the rec-room. Leaving the conversation at a pause, the group each lifted their heads, making sure not to make the movements simultaneous. Standing in the doorway, a short, shaking blonde stepped into the light. Jafar recognized her as the girl who continuously tried to create one of those forsaken '_bonds'_ with Scar. Across the room, the lion could be seen shrinking into himself at her presence.

Behind her, another form walked with an equal speed. Less timid, with more sway in her hips, a monochrome mop bounced from under a yellow-striped hat. Two black dots glanced around the room, screwing into a look of dismay to match the curl of her pink-colored lips.

Jafar felt his jaw drop.

"_You!"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Good gracious. You guys are sweetie-pies. Thanks so much for the feedback!

Also, if there's any one out there who loves Batman, Harley Quinn, and possibly the ship of Batsy and Harley, I recommend you check out the story _"B n' H"_ by Theraxs. It's only got three chapters so far, because of lack of reviews, but if you enjoy it, leaving a simple review would most likely make the author's day. Like your reviews make mine. :)

Another thing (gosh me, stop talking), I've started up a Forum. It's a Disney Fan-Fiction Challenge Forum, like a writing thing. You come up with an idea, and somebody takes on the challenge to write it. I've already got an idea up under the _"Plot Bunny Hatching Grounds"_ section, and I'd actually love to co-write it with someone. If anyone is interested in the forum, or co-writing a story, just PM me, and I'll send you a link.

Capiche? Cappuccino.

(Last thing, does Stacy's swearing seem like it's getting out of hand? Should I bump this up to M, or keep it at a solid T? I'm a bit paranoid, because I do make her swear a bit, and I feel like it's going to bite me in the booty later. Let me know what you think!)

Anyway, pay no attention to me. Let's continue!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

"Like I was saying…the plan is simple."

"_Simple my flaming blue-!"_ Quite contrary to his words, Hades' face was a deep shade of crimson, the fire matching the near-psychotic look in his eyes. "Jafar, do you realize what you're _implying_ here? Buddy, pal, _muchacho_…you're suggesting we _give them power_ over us. Do you realize that? You should realize that."

"I'm not too keen on this myself, but it's the only logical solution." The vizier's words were just as crooked as his beard. "We give them the one thing they so desperately crave…_trust_. False trust. Grab a partner, make a '_bond'_. Wriggle your way into their pathetic hearts. And when the time comes, crush it!"

"And how exactly do we DO that?" Ursula rested her oversized chin against her purple palm. "Trust is a thing easily created, yes, but what are the perks of this deal? What do we get in return, Jaffy?"

Jafar's upper lip curled over his teeth. "_Everything_, you fools. We're going to gain everything."

Word of the plan spread like wildfire through the contained space, and in a record of ten minutes tops, nearly every villain was scrambling for a partner. Excited, confused, and mostly overjoyed, the animation junkies drank in the attention like sugar. It was too easy getting these simpletons under control, the sorcerer realized.

However, of course, there were some whom he knew he had no chance at coercing into the plan. Maleficent for one, was a queen he dared not to approach the matter further with. The more powerful villains, Chernabog, the Skull King, and similar others held no interest in what they deemed his '_scrabble'_ for power.

Even Hook refused a bond. Upon pressuring him on the subject, the pirate only spat, "This is a rouse for second-rates!"

But then came the sudden panic. The influx of bonding, almost nonexistent before, had doubled in the shortest amount of time possible. If word of this made its way to the Head-Honcho, to that forsaken rodent—the scheme would be up before it had even begun!

"Hey, morons!" Iago shrieked form his shoulder, "Whaddya think you're doing, just going willy-nilly like that? You're gonna get us caught—"

"Iago!" Jafar snapped, snapping the bird's beak shut with a twist of his hand. A guard had come to attention at the action, and was speaking into the black box attached to her security belt. Back-up. Soon the plane would be swarming with suits, and the operation would be shutdown faster than the time Rattigan tried to burrow out of his cell.

"Oh—Oh, SHIT!"

The room froze. All heads, good and bad, slowly turned, locating the source of the unexpected outburst in a shaking mop of monochrome hair.

It was the little brat from before. She was clutching her hat against her chest, eyes wide. The Arabian man tried his best to hold back his amusement, while his feathered sidekick took advantage of the situation to let loose a loud bark of laughter.

"What's wrong with her hair?!"

It was like a tumbleweed, all grey, white, and black, hollowed out and made into a wig. Strands sprang across her splotchy expression, clouding the anger with uneven bundles of hair. The culprit of her rage was none other than the Cheshire Cat, whose grin hadn't slipped an inch. It was a mystery how that striped cat made it into the villains sector, but the world had deemed it so, so it was.

"Sorry Miss!" His creepily cheerful voice bounced off the plaster walls. "I was just so enchanted by that little ribbon atop your head, that I completely lost mine!" To punctuate his point, he simply plucked off his furry melon and held it aloft, laughing jovially at his joke.

A soft murmur rose up in the crowd as the guard began to approach the duo, but it all froze again when she swung her arm up, palm out. "Do I look like I give a damn? I did not come here for some mangy _freak_ to go all Thief Lord on me! I did not sign up for this—_I signed up to draw dammit!"_

That was all it took to resurface the waterfall. Unable to tear away his eyes, he watched the poor girl become swarmed as hundreds of villains tried to capture her attention, all pleading for her to draw them. Her grey head disappeared in the sea of orange jumpers. The vizier chuckled lightly to himself at her idiocy and turned back to mind his own business, drowning out the cacophony of chaos with various thoughts of his own delusions of power-to-come.

"_Out of my __**way**__, child."_

"_I'm twenty-seven you crotchety old man."_

Quietly he folded his hands under his chin, reflecting on the brief introduction they'd had at the mouse's headquarters. She was twenty-seven years of age, which, while young compared to himself, was still an odd age to be in such a world. Most women he knew of that age were married, or engaged, and from her spicy demeanor, he assumed she was neither.

Then again, what would he know? He had no knowledge of the child's life, nor was he interested in gaining it. She was just another simple pawn, and if lucky, she would survive this plan to become the henchwoman of the villain she chose to bond with, if she chose any.

If not…well then, what a waste it would be.

* * *

"This is fucking _ridiculous_." I snarled under my breath.

I'd managed to wrestle my way through a crowd of extreme hairstyles, orange jumpsuits, and groping hands to nestle myself between two of the guards who had come to contain the brouhaha. During the mess I'd even gotten separated from Rune, which was a pain in the ass. What the hell had gotten all of _them_ worked up? As soon as I'd mentioned drawing, they'd jumped at me like a bunch of starving hyenas.

Some of them actually were.

Was it that…that stupid _bonding_ thing? I thought none of the villains were fond of the idea, so for them to do something like that for that sort of reasoning…I really needed fresh air. The stale, sterile feeling of the building was giving me the creeps, like the atmosphere of a hospital.

"Hey, uh, guy? Sir?"

The mouse-eared man next to me cast a sidelong glance, but didn't speak a word.

'_Rude.'_

"I'm just gonna…head out now. If you see Rune, can you tell her I split to find my hotel?" I had yet to accept my reservations, unpack, or contact Sam. I'd promised her I'd call her once I landed, and that was close to half an hour ago.

Neither body gave any sign that they'd cooperate with my request, much less that they heard me speaking at all. An angry shudder ran up my spine, but I clenched my teeth to keep from creating more trouble. These people were keeping the crazies at bay, and the last thing I needed was to give them a reason to let the psychos loose on me.

Pathetically, I looked at my hat and sniffed. It was completely ruined, torn to pieces by that cat's claws. What the hell had that thing been thinking anyway? That it was just going to show up and snatch my hat because it liked it? Why weren't these guys under more security, I mean _really?_

It was obvious that the two stone towers in front of me weren't going to be of any help. Channeling all of my frustration into a funneled sense of irritation, I decided I would let loose when I made it back to my room, safe and sound. There I would be able to scream, curse, and rant without the fear of a certain buncha' potty-mouth police sniffing around.

I lifted my arms, battered hat hanging in shreds from my fists, prepared to shove the duo out of my way, when a sudden, low scoffing noise caught my attention.

Through the rumble of the crowd, I almost didn't catch it. I even ignored it, thinking it wasn't meant for me. But when I moved again, to take another step forward, it sounded again, even louder and punctuated with a snort.

This time I turned around, glaring across the sea of villains to see who was trying to push my buttons. Then again, I could have been imagining the whole thing. I'd been driven across the ocean into a magical world by a freaking airplane, imagining sounds wasn't even close to the level of stress I was currently going through.

Sure enough, someone was grinning foolishly at me. I almost laughed when I saw who it was. Scratch that. I saw who it was, took a double take, and then laughed.

Orange was a not-so flattering color on Gaston.

The brutish barbarian waved me over with a simple flick of his fingers. Like a moron, I actually obeyed the command, and stalked over, holding my hat protectively over my chest. The last thing I needed was even the notion that he would try to ogle any part of my body, being the kind of guy that he was.

Maybe I was jumping to conclusions.

But I really hated villains, so it wasn't like I really cared.

"What do you want?" It was a rude greeting, but I just wanted to take a bath. A nice, warm, bubbly bath with candles, and chocolates. The whole shebang.

My bitter words didn't even faze him. "Know who's drawn better than Gaston? No one!" On cue, he struck what he must have considered a dashing pose. It looked more like he was attempting to mimic the Thinker statue, and was having severe abdominal cramps in the process.

He was actually trying to get me to draw him. The lumbering oaf with no literary sense whatsoever was trying to get me to draw him. What gave him the idea that I wanted to draw him? Other than extreme egotistical pride, of course.

I thought about it a moment, and realized I'd answered my own question.

"Uh, _no_, thanks." I waved off his request, and had to hold back my snickers at his ridiculous brow movements. It looked like two caterpillars were trying to kiss on his face.

"Aw, c'mon!" His tone became toddler-like, and whining. "No one is drawn better than Gaston! Seriously! Just give it a try—"

"Look, I don't _like_ you." It was an extremely snappish interjection, but I was at the end of my rope. "I don't like anyone in here. I just wanted a nice job, at an amazing company. It's been my dream for years. What I _do not want_ is to be bullied and hassled by some wad who thinks I won't happily take his decorative antlers and shove them where the sun doesn't shine. _Got it?"_

His mouth dropped open and closed for a moment. The "amazing" Gaston was actually speechless for once. Figure that. But then, like a stroke of idiot genius, he spoke again.

"They _took_ _away_ my collection, actually…"

"I. Don't. _Care_."

With each word I shoved my nails closer and closer to his face, threatening to stab out his "perfect" eyes. "Try to ask me to draw you again. Try it, and I will be drawing you. In fact, I'll be painting you. With your blood."

"_Someone needs an anger management class."_ An inmate next to him muttered, looking a bit perturbed when I flashed him an irritated sneer.

I'd really expected these guys to be used to death threats, considering the fact that they all lived together in one enclosed building like this. Maybe the buddy-system was just a cover-up for all the times they'd actually tried to murder one another. Keep your friends close, I figured.

No one tried to speak to me on the way out after that. Or at least, until I got to the elevator doorway.

Then someone threw a paper ball at my head.

I was going to scream, when I realized something was written on it. Annoyed, yet oddly intrigued, I unfolded the frayed scrap in my hand, staring at the excruciatingly detailed penmanship with impressed disdain. Whoever wrote this had beautiful handwriting, while mine looked more like what a kindergartener would scribble on a classroom wall.

What irritated me more was what the message read out to be.

"_Dear newest companion,_

_A hearty welcome from us all, your future companions. Oh, what's this? You didn't know you were assigned to us directly? Foolish child, I expect they told you nothing. Just the bare minimum. I don't like to rush tactics, so I'll put it frankly: you were chosen to be one of the many "garbage men" of our esteemed facility. Boys and girls as unlucky as you were chosen to act as leashes for us villains._

_Not that it'll actually happen, but I digress._

_Time is running short, and as I watch you, I can see your patience is as well. It's quite amusing actually, but I'm sure we'll have time to discuss this._

_We'll have time to discuss everything, once you reply to this message._

_The answer is a simple 'Yes' or 'No', but we both know what you'll pick._

_Signed,_

_Anonymous"_

I blinked, staring at the cryptic words. What sort of game was this idiot playing? Did they really think I was going to fall for this? It was just some idiot trying to think they could trick me into falling for some stupid scheme to '_bond'_ with them.

It didn't even have to have the question written on it, the implication was enough.

With a groan, I ripped the paper in two, and tossed the shreds into my pocket.

I really hated villains.

* * *

"_So, how's work going?"_

"It's, uh…great."

"…_You don't sound happy."_

"Well, the interview went well, but the actual job…I don't think I like what they've assigned me to."

I could hear Sam's voice switch into a serious tone on the other side of the phone. _"What sort of job is it?"_

My palms were sweating. Awkwardly, I shifted on the satin sheets and bit into a chocolate. Warm caramel melted across my tongue, gumming my voice slightly as I responded. "Oh…just, really…irritating stuff. I have to work with people I don't like."

"_Everyone has to do that." _

"No, I mean, I really, really don't like them. Or what I have to do with them. I don't like the job at all."

"_You mean, you're not happy working for Disney_?" She sounded shocked, and thinking about it, I was too.

"No! No that's not what I mean at all!" Again I shifted, this time dragging a frilly pillow across my lap to rest my elbows on. While the phone was cradles under my chin, one hand was being used to feed myself candies, while the other was scrolling across my browser. Luckily, the crazy world had redeemed itself, even just a smidgen, by coming with Wi-Fi. I had no idea how, but I wasn't about to argue with a heavenly thing.

"I like working for Disney. It's what I've always wanted. I mean…I haven't actually started the job yet, but—"

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa."_ My naïve roommate shushed me over the line. _"You're complaining to me about a job you haven't even started yet? Well, how do you even know you're not going to like working with these people, if you haven't even given them a chance?"_

"These aren't people you just give a chance, Sam!" I paused on a picture of a drawing I liked, reblogged it on my tumblr, and continued speaking. "They're…not nice people. Like, the coworkers that replace decaf with caffeinated coffee, and park in your spot and…worse."

Truth be told, some of the villains where like that, but most were killers. Cold-hearted killers that I had no doubt would rip my spine out through my mouth if they had the chance. I'd already gotten on one of their bad sides (I couldn't help but chuckle, if villains had a bad side, then that meant they had a good side, too. What a riot.), and I didn't want to end up on anyone else's.

When she asked for clarification, I retold my story of my encounter with Jafar in Mickey's office, leaving out the obvious bits, such as names, occupations, and magical standing. As far as she knew, I was talking about running in with an asshole John Doe.

"_Sounds more like you're the one who was being a jerk."_

"What the _hell_?" I barked. "You're my best friend! You're supposed to defend me!"

"_You were rude, Stacy. Admit it. Calling someone a crotchety old man is not going to make you friends in the office sandbox."_

"Yeah…well, whatever." She was right. She was always right.

"_Admit it."_

"I was…somewhat justified. He called me a _child_!"

"_You responded like one."_

"Fine, I was being a _jerk_, okay? I insulted him without thinking, and he got mad in response, and it was perfectly justified. I'm a certifiable jerk, _happy?_"

"_Yes."_ I could almost hear her grin. _"Now…if this coworker comes up to you and asks for help with the job you've been assigned to, what're you going to do?"_

"I'm gonna…"

I bit into another chocolate. Coconut. Ugh.

"I'm gonna give him a chance."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** I won't take up much of your time here.

Just look over friendly reminders.

There's a spin-off. It's called _"Concept Art"._ You should seriously check it out.

"_B 'N H"_ – Batman. Harley Quinn. I know there are some Bat fans out there. It could use loving reviews. Author is Theraxs.

I'm still looking for a possible co-writer for a WiR idea I have. (Vanilla-Tastic: It's a warning, to those who don't like that particular pairing. Same-age AU, don't worry.)

I also appreciate reviews, but I'm not begging for them. Only friendly suggesting.

Enough outta me. Enjoy this long overdue chapter.

(_Funny P.S.:_ My BFF has been wanting to catch up with this fic, and the first thing she asks me is, _"So, have your OC and Jafar done it yet?"_ Jeezus, what kinda writer do you think I am?!

…

Go ahead and laugh, I know you guys want to.)

- InsaniumArtisan.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

I woke up to the ringing of a phone.

Already annoyed by my interrupted sleep, and the dream that came with it, I snatched the offending machine from its cradle, and snapped into it. "What?"

"_Good morning, Miss Wren!"_

I groaned. It was that damn mouse.

He seemed to take my noise of aggression as a sign to keep talking. _"It's your first official day on the job! I hope you got a good sleep last night, cause with today's task…", _he chuckled brightly, _"You're gonna need the energy!"_

"I stopped feeding Benedict Cumberbatch chocolate-covered strawberries for _this?_"

There was a pause. _"E-Excuse me?" _

"The dream you woke me from." I mumbled. For a moment I considered relaying more intimate details, but realized that would probably do less good for my reputation, than my want for revenge. "It's nothing important."

"_Alright then!"_ As if nothing had happened, he was chirping again, and I could almost see the grin he was wearing. Cheery was not my cup of tea, especially in the morning. _"Like I was saying, Miss Wren, we just got wind that our villains have, and I admit this is a bit unexpected, taken to the new 'Bonding Program' we've created, with help from you animators and trainees, and your first new task begins with this very program!"_

I blinked. This was really pushing the envelope, but it was something I had to address. "I…I'm really not comfortable with this task."

"_Come again?"_ He didn't sound angry, just confused.

"The thing is…it's like sharing all of your personal information with a complete stranger. And I'm not a very…nice person to know, to tell the truth. I doubt any of them could take being with me for very long. Heck, I can't stand being with myself in an enclosed space for an extended period of time. So, this task…I'll take anything but this. _Anything."_

"_Hm."_ For a moment, I expected him to fire me. I'd being waiting for it since my freak-out in the Pen. I was sure word would have gotten back about my riling up, and he would have sent me back on the first plane, train, or whatever.

"_Well, that's a problem."_ He mumbled again, _"Because someone's already sent in a very specific request for their bonding to be with…well, with you, Miss Wren!"_

_What?_

"Can I ask…can I ask who it was?" I was seriously trying to keep my calm, even as the blurry feeling of sleep was suddenly and frighteningly replaced with anxiety, worry, and a bit of fear. The only people in that place were villains, and to the degree that I didn't like villains, I could only snap at a select few. The others could gut me and string my intestines up like Christmas lights. And I liked my innards where they were.

"_But that would take out the fun!"_ He laughed again, oblivious to the fear gnawing at my mind. As much as this all freaked me out, I didn't completely blame him. Mickey was just a messenger, and I'd always taken the phrase '_Don't shoot the messenger' _to heart.

"Please?" I begged.

"_If you're worried about it, don't be!"_ I could hear his fingertips drumming along his desk as he spoke, and an image of a thoughtful and boss-like Mickey Mouse formed in my brain. It was helpful to soothe my nerves. He was a cartoon rodent, but he was still the person in charge here. He knew what he was doing.

"_You'll have a chance to meet them soon enough. That is, if you're completely alright with this task. If you're really off-put with it, I could always assign someone else. I just know the requester would be very disappointed!"_

He was trying to egg me into agreeing. Cautiously, I licked my lips, feeling the chapped skin under my tongue, and timidly asked, "Where will I be…meeting this person?"

I had no idea if they were actually a person. It could have been that cat, still after the shreds of my hat that he hadn't completely destroyed. It could have been Gaston, and as far as I was concerned, he was more of a pig than a man.

"_I've got a nice little place set up for you two! It's a café where most of the requesters go to meet up with their future bonders, after that big scuffle at the, uh, Pen that is. Maybe you've heard of the "Illumination Station"?"_

It sounded more like an exhibition at Epcot than a café. Like someplace you'd go to look at character sketches and storyboards. I was surprised there was anyone left to agree to it, after how hectic things had been yesterday. "I haven't. What's the food like?"

To punctuate my point, my stomach let out a low growl, reminding me that the last thing I'd eaten were those chocolates I'd gotten from room service.

"_Oh, it's great!"_ He gushed. _"Minnie and I go there all the time! It has breakfast, lunch, and dinner—and the prices are pretty good too. So you're accepting the task, I presume?"_

Rubbing my eyes, I blinked several times, trying to adjust my eyes to the light. The sun was shining directly into my balcony window, making the room seem several times brighter than it actually was. I glanced down, staring at my pajamas, and swallowed awkwardly. "I might need a little bit of time."

"_Your appointment with him isn't until two-thirty, so you have plenty of time!"_

"Huh?" I hadn't even noticed what time it was.

9:30…

"Mickey?"

"_Yes?"_

"I accept. Good-night."

"_That's great! I'll make the plans then! Wait, what do you mean by 'Good-Ni—'?"_

I slammed the phone back into its holder, pulled the covers over my head, and groaned.

"Benedict Cumberbatch, come back to me. I have more strawberries."

Needless to say, my next dream involved a very big mousetrap, set for a very big mouse.

I awoke to a high-pitched voice squealing out from my phone.

"Hello? Hellooooo? I'm in your phone, lemme out! Lemme out, please?"

I sighed. I really just needed to set Sam's ringtone to a song or something less exasperating. Nevertheless, I squirmed until I was facing the tiny piece of machinery, and snatched it up; trying to hold back the urge to scream bloody murder at my best friend.

"Whaddya want?" I yawned into the speaker.

"_It's twelve o'clock, and you're still not up? C'mon, Stacy, aren't you supposed to have an internship or something now? You're gonna get fired if this is how you do your job!"_ She'd been up for a while, I could hear it in her voice.

"Twelve?" She was right. I sat straight up, a bit frazzled. I had two and half hours to take a shower, do my makeup, get my supplies, and find that café. Because, in all honesty, I had no idea where it was. I'd need to find a map, bring money to buy food, possibly bring my verification files, my diplomas, my waiver...

"_Stacy! Stacy, are you even listening to me?"_

"What? I'm here, yeah." I leapt off the bed, rushing to the wooden wardrobe adjacent my sleeping quarters to fish out an acceptable outfit. The most I had on top were casual clothes. Pushing them aside, I dug through the mass of colors and stripes. "Look, Sam, thanks for the wake-up call, but I've gotta go—"

"_Hey! Don't you hang up on me!" _Her threat was an empty one, but I let out a huff and pulled my finger away from the button. _"Like I was saying, I wanna FaceTime later! I wanna see what work looks like! Send me pictures, videos, something!"_

That really wasn't a good idea. She'd been knocked out for knowing about the existence of one character. What would those guys do if she found about this entirely separate world from ours? Would they just erase her memories again, or…?

Would they erase me from her memories, too?

There was no way in Hell I was letting that happen. But I had to do something. If she didn't get evidence that I was actually out and about, she might start asking for me. And that could lead to the same consequences.

"I—I'll send you something later! I've gotta go, bye!" Before she could say anything else, I hung up, turning my phone off. If she tried to call back, she'd get the voicemail. That bought me enough time to get ready, and find the café.

If I could find it in time, that is.

Roughly two hours later, I rushed out of the hotel, hair wet, but still drying, my clothes the only colorful thing on my person, save my lips, still the same pink shade they always were. It'd taken much longer to pick something out that looked good with the color of my mouth, so I'd gone with red. A bright red button-down blouse and a simple brown pencil-skirt. My nametag hung around my neck, still laughing at my misfortune.

My hat, abused and near unraveling, sat back in my room. I wasn't going to let my potential partner anywhere near it, lest it turned out to be that damn cat.

Thankfully, there were maps in the lobby, which I'd halfway expected, so pinpointing the location of the meeting spot wasn't nearly as hard as I'd thought it'd be. It was still a way away, so I considered getting a taxi.

The moment I lifted my thumb out, a cartoon car zoomed up, and grinned at me. "Call me, toots?"

Even the cars here were—I shook away the thought. Of course they were. There couldn't possibly be a normal car in the Disney universe, could there?

At least, not where I was concerned.

Accepting my fate, I simply slipped into the passenger's side seat, and stated where I wanted to go. The anthropomorphic vehicle gave a short, "Sure thing!" and took off, leaving me clinging to the windowless (and not to mention roofless) door like a frightened child.

"Slow down! Slow down!" I begged, feeling my stomach flip as we swerved around a corner, narrowly missing an elderly turtle who had been ambling carelessly down the sidewalk.

"Sorry, sister!" It called back, "I'm a one-speed model! _Fast!"_

It laughed at its own joke, and keep on going, turning road after road, so quickly that I didn't have a second to process where we were turning to and from. The world passed by in a blur, and to persuade the emptiness in my stomach to keep me from throwing up what was left of my insides, I squeezed my eyes shut. The sensation was akin to being trapped on a rollercoaster in the dark, feeling the movement, but not seeing it.

Just as I was getting used to it, the car gave a sudden deafening screech, and skidded to a halt so violent that I was sent tumbling forward. My files were biting into my arms from how hard I had to grip them to keep them from flying away, and I realized that with both appendages preoccupied, I had nothing to keep my face from slamming into the glove box it was headed straight forward.

"_Son of a-!"_ I reached up, gently massaging the bump that quickly swelled on my forehead.

"Call again if ya need me, toots!" The yellow cab honked, scooting off down the street so ferociously that my skirt flipped a good bit. It wasn't enough to reveal anything, but the sensation was more than embarrassing in itself.

"This whole damn city is insane," I snarled to no one in particular.

I realized that I must have been a mess. My hair was completely dry, but felt more like a tumbleweed, sticking straight out in all directions, like a wind-blown hairstyle gone very, very wrong. I didn't even want to know what my makeup looked like. Probably spotty and streaked. Ugh.

Looking up to the building, I felt my jaw drop. It was big, but that wasn't what was impressive about it. It looked like a giant pen, with windows lining up the side of the enormous writing tool at an angle. I wondered how people got up to the top floor, at the very tip of the pen. Was there an elevator? Could a building with this kind of architecture even have an elevator? Did it run at an angle?

'_Is it worth it?'_ I took the moment to consider. '_Is this really worth it?'_

'_They asked specifically for you.'_ My mind responded back. It was the side I hated. The subconscious one. '_Think of how disappointed they'd be if you didn't show up. Think of how angry. Think of what they could do, if they every crossed your path again.'_

The paranoid subconscious one.

"Maybe if I sneak in, I could get to the bathroom, and fix whatever damage has been done."

My plan came to a screeching halt the moment my foot crossed the doorway. Mickey must have already called in my name, because as soon as the hostess at the front podium glanced at my tag, she visibly brightened, nearly dislocating my arm as she dragged me up the swirling staircases at the opposite end of the room. Each room we passed through was filled to the brim with people, and I was sure by "Floor Anonymous" that almost every well-known character from my childhood was either laughing or gawking at how messy-looking I was.

Some almost looked like they sympathized with me. I guessed they'd called the Cab From Hell by mistake, too.

When the hostess finally released my wrist, my legs were on fire. She'd dragged me up so many flights of stairs that I had lost count. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, accentuating the beauty mark under her eye. I'd almost missed her style, somewhat similar to Lilo&Stitch. The wideness of her nose wasn't off-putting to her looks, but her skin looked a little pale for her to be designed from a Hawaiian-based cartoon.

I didn't even bother to read her nametag as she waved me in, pointing out my table with a giggle. "He's been waiting a while now. You're a bit late."

I glanced at my watch. Two-fifteen.

"He's a bit _early_."

"Oh." She seemed ruffled by my comeback. "Well, anyhow, you're in the booth by the window. Your orders have already been placed. They should be round anytime now."

Bidding me adieu, the hostess rushed her way back down the stairs, making progress like a professional athlete. I felt extremely out of shape as I watched her jog out of sight, and made mental plans to start exercising more that I knew I would forget.

Before I walked in, I was going to make damn sure this group of people didn't see how horrendous I looked. Pulling back behind the frame, I yanked out my compact, working quickly to patch up my makeup as well as I could. It ended up a bit smudged, but looked less clownish that it'd begun by the time I was done. Several times I went through my hair with a comb, only to have it grow bigger and bigger with each tug. I gave in after the third inch my hair grew in volume, and instead moved to pushing it down as far as it would flatten.

Nervous energy pooled in my chest, and I really considered running. My fight or flight instincts were telling me to either start sprinting down the stairs after the other woman, or to throw myself out of the window. The window was much closer, so I took my chances, and started towards it, and the booth I was supposed to be at.

I'd slipped into the seat, ready to climb over and toss myself into the open air, when the person across from me finally spoke.

"Took you long enough."

My fingers tightened on the table, stopping my escape mid-slide. "What?"

They were holding a menu so high that I couldn't see their face, but sure enough, I could see their hat just fine.

It was Jafar.

The wizard gently laid the plastic paper aside, and gave me a sneer. "You couldn't even take the initiative to dress up? I'm appalled at your lack of manners."

I hated this guy. I didn't like him when I met him, and even though I told Sam I was going to give him a chance if I ever met him again, I _really_ hated this guy.

"_You_ called me out here…because _you're_ the one who wants to…'Bond' with me?" It sounded weird saying it, and he could tell, because we both ended up flinching at the same time. The window looked friendlier than ever, and was even closer.

"Yes. It is a surprise, isn't it? After all, you're a just an insignificant child, while I'm—"

'_A Narcissistic asshole,_' I wanted to say. Instead, I clamped my teeth down on my lower lip, biting so hard that I could taste the blood welling up.

"I'm _royalty_." He finished, lifting his hand to his chest to pose proudly.

It took everything in me not to laugh at how stupid he looked. Royalty, my ass. He was Sultan for around ten minutes tops, then got cut down to size by a teenage street urchin. A gold-hearted street urchin, but a street urchin, nonetheless.

Not that I was going to say any of this out loud.

He had that damn staff again. And while it was funny-looking from a television watcher's point of view, up close and personal, that thing was intimidating. For a second, I swore the eyes blinked.

"So, what do you want with _me_, Oh Great Royal One?" I allowed myself room for smarminess, rolling my eyes around to survey who shared the room with us. I could see two white ducks in a table across the way, a small girl with a blue furball, two lion cubs, and an assemblage of other cartoon characters that I recognized from various Disney films I'd seen.

Jafar seemed to take my sarcastic insult as more of a compliment, and puffed himself up proudly, like a bird showing off its flashy feathers. "You're…display in the institution yesterday was quite amusing."

His serious expression dipped into a devious grin, and he curled his beard around his finger thoughtfully. "I _like_ amusing things."

My stomach took that moment to growl again, as a waitress passed by with a platter filled with various foods. I was almost drooling from the various scents that floated by; steaks, fish, salads, breads, fruits, desserts—I still hadn't had anything to eat.

"Our platters are on their way." The ex-genie mused, watching the same platter with boredom written on his face. "I took the liberty of ordering for you, since you seemed to deem it necessary to take your sweet time arriving."

"I was early!" I scoffed, shocked at how completely intolerant he was. "You were way to early if you spent enough time here to think I was late! Our appointment was at two-thirty! What…what time did you _get_ here?"

"I like to arrive a while before, to get the best spots possible." He didn't name a time, so I just imagined the robed wanna-be magician standing at the doorway at midnight, waiting for opening time, just to get a window seat. He acted like a drama queen, so it didn't seem too far out of reach for his personality.

"That's…good to know." I mumbled. A bout of silence passed over us for a moment, more of him waiting for me to speak, than the other way around. Half expecting him to begin ranting about how "great" he was again, I tried to keep the tension, and the drama, to a minimum.

"What did you order?" The menus depicted all kinds of full meals, including sandwiches, full dinner deals, breakfast platters, and luncheon trays or all sorts. Everything looked great, even for 2-dimensional food.

He made another face. "Are you really going to keep skirting the issue?"

"Wha…?" I knew what he was talking about, but in truth, I was. This whole '_Bonding'_ thing was still unnerving to me, as was the very aspect of giving access to any of my personal information to a villain, much less completely admittance to my emotions, twenty-four seven. Before I could make up an excuse, or make a turn away from that certain piece of conversation, a waiter rolled up, on roller-skates, with one large covered tray on each hand.

"Sorry for the delay!" He voice sounded oddly familiar. I looked up to ask what took so long, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was a strangled noise.

It was Goofy. As in, _the_ Goofy. Grinning his trademark smile, the humanoid dog slid the platters to the tabletop, momentarily slipping on his skates, and nearly completing a full-split while he tried to keep his balance. Luckily, both for him and for us, he managed to set the trays down with spilling anything, or falling over.

I couldn't help but applaud for the miniature show he put on, and with an embarrassed smile, he bowed. "Enjoy your meals, ah-_hyuck_!"

As he skated away, I grabbed the top of my platter, and lifted the top off. Almost immediately, the scent of ham hit me like a slap in the face. It was a full blown hunk of seared ham, complete with a baked potato, corn on the cob, and a small salad placed off to the side.

And it all looked _delicious_.

Jafar might have been an ass for ordering in my place, but at least he'd had enough decency to order something remotely edible. And this was way, _way_ better than remotely edible.

Nearly drooling all over my meal, I glanced up to take a peek at his. He'd ordered a steak, and some sort of pasta. I didn't recognize what it was covered with, but it smelled great.

"Uh…thanks. For this." It was the best thanks I could give him, and I'd be damned if I was going to waste any more time trying to think of something better instead of stuffing my face.

The vizier smirked again. "Just one of the perks of spending time with me."

It was this again. I hadn't even taken three bites of my food and he was already back on that issue. Gulping down the glass of water that sat on the plate with the meal, I swallowed hard.

"Look. About that…"

"You don't have a _choice_, you know."

"What?" He wasn't even looking at me, and was instead stirring the sliced bits of his steak around the place, covering them in the mystery pasta sauce, like a child who was trying to avoid eating the meal he hated most. At my question, he glanced up, looking positively unenthusiastic about everything.

"If you say 'Yes', you'll make this much simpler on yourself."

What the Hell was he talking about?

"What the Hell are you talking about?" I mumbled, shoveling a forkful of ranch-drizzled lettuce into my mouth.

"I'm talking about the '_Bond'_!" His fist came down on the table, shaking the objects on top with the force of the hit, and creating enough noise to draw a considerable crowd of watching eyes. Shame crept up my neck in the form of a monochrome blush, and I ducked down, speaking back in a whispered hiss.

"What _about_ the damn '_Bond'_?"

Then he let out a sigh. From the sound he made, you'd think he was explaining Calculus to a third-grader. Knowing this villain's ego, it's probably exactly how he viewed me.

"If you said '_No'_, which I'm thinking you'd do if you were a fool, I'd just keep going back."

"Back to who?" I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling somewhat threatened by the tone of his voice.

"To _Mickey_, you foolish girl!" It was another snap, but with less force this time. "If you refuse me request, I'll just continually request you until you agree."

"And what if I keep saying '_No'_?"

"Every rock is eventually weathered down over time." He spoke the words matter-of-factly, and I flinched behind my corn cob. That was actually true. I could hold out against something for a long, long time, but with enough pressure, I could be goaded into almost everything.

It was how I ended up in this mess in the first place, wasn't it?

"Will you give me some time to think about it?" It was the least he could do.

"Fine." Jafar folded his hands on the tabletop, having not touched a bite of his meal. "You have until the count of five. If you don't choose before then, I can promise you'll regret it." The end of his threat was punctuated with a toxic smile, and the thought of what these cartoons were actually capable of outside of the television screen sent a shudder down my spine.

"Wait, you can't just…"

"_Five."_

"Just give me a…"

"_Four."_

"Are you fu—"

"_Three."_

Seriously, how could he expect me to decide what to choose? To let him pester me until I quit, or possibly give one of the most psychotic villains in the history of Disney a full doorway to every emotion that passed through my body? "Calm down a sec…"

"_Two."_ Both of us were clenching our hands extremely tightly. This decision was stressing us both out more than either of us would admit.

"I-!"

"_One."_

"I accept, dammit!"


End file.
